A Souffle and the Odd Kiss
by Hannah Tennant-Cumberbatch
Summary: In which the Doctor and Clara don't go on that many adventures, eat the odd souffle and snog. Quite a bit. A series of 11/Clara oneshots.
1. One Week Is Too Long

**A/N: Omg I love Clara and The Doctor so much I can't breathe so here is a collection of oneshots which you WILL love because they're so fluffy and sweet (like a souffle, coincidentally) and plotless. THE WAY YOU LIKE THEM.**

**Please review/favourite/follow! I love hearing what you think.**

**I take prompts! Review/PM me and I promise to dedicate one to you!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who BUT I LOVE IT.**

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_**One Week Is Too Long**_

_In which Clara wants a break for a week, but the Doctor is having none of it._

"It's just a week, Doctor. _One week. _I'll be back before you know it!"

Clara Oswald was dashing about her bedroom in the TARDIS, grabbing odd items of clothing and the odd essential and throwing them into an open suitcase on her bed- albeit, a lot slower than she planned due to the jabbering Timelord which kept blocking her path.

"Is this really necessary, though, Clara?" he kept asking her this, over and over again while she never gave him a straight answer. "Is it? _Really?"_

Clara rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help but smile to herself. Just a little. "No. I don't suppose it is."

"Stay, then!" the Doctor answered conclusively, throwing his hands up in the air for added emphasis. "Put all this stuff back and we can go somewhere interesting!"

Clara span round, clamping her hands on the Doctor's shoulders. She gave him a little wink- his mouth forming a small 'o' of surprise. "Now, wouldn't you like that? I'm afraid I'm not that easy, Doctor."

The Doctor got all flabbergasted. "Yes! Wait, no… Shut up!"

Oh, she did love making him blush. Part of the reasons why she travelled with this crazy madman- he was so easy to embarrass. He clearly wasn't used to having someone who could make wittier remarks than he could.

Clara grinned, letting go of his shoulders and back to the job she set out to do. A couple of books from the shelf beside her bed flew into the open bag. "Now, do you mind? I think I've got some packing to do."

"What for, though?" the Doctor queried. He sat on her bed, crossed legged, following her slim, petite body as she danced across the room. "Why do you need to go?"

"…Just need to think a few things through." she decided to respond with, which the Doctor was entirely happy with. "A bit of time to myself. I did have a life before you, you know!"

The Doctor groaned, tugging on her sleeve like a petulant little kid. "But _Clara! _You can think about things here! I think about you all the time!" he quickly and hurriedly corrected himself, "Things! I think about things all the time. Not you. Although, I do think about you. Not in a creepy way, no… In a nice way. Normal way."

Clara smirked, not entirely convinced. Oh, that man. She'd never met anyone like him. Anyone so _devoted _to her. "Okay… Maybe a bit of space would do us good. Just a break. Then we can travel again! Alright?"

"But I don't need a break!" the Doctor continued to counter, to Clara's annoyance. Okay, she admitted, she did quite enjoy having a man so infatuated with her he couldn't stand her leaving… Who wouldn't? But sometimes, you have to draw a line. "I've done the travelling alone thing before, Clara. And I don't intend to go back to that. _That life."_

Clara picked up a cushion from her dressing table chair and threw it at him, causing him to topple off the bed in surprise. She couldn't help but laugh as his mop of dark, scruffy hair appeared at the other side of the bed, a less than happy expression on his face. Oh, that chin. "Hey! What was that for?"

"Don't be so melodramatic, you fool!" Clara exclaimed, wandering over to the bed and grabbing onto his hands; pulling on them so that he was off the floor and back onto the sheets. "I'm going away for _one week_, not forever! Don't try and play the I'm-a-thousand-years-old-and-I've-had-such-a-tough-life card on me, mister, 'cause it won't work."

The Doctor folded his arms and scowled, backing up against the headboard.

"Sulking now, are we?" Clara pouted, clambering onto the bed so that they were face-to-face. "For someone who claims to be one thousand years old, you aren't half mature."

The Doctor instantly straightened his face so that it was of a more neutral expression. He purposely looked away from Clara's face (oh, she looked so pretty when she was being all sassy) and put on the air of someone who wasn't at all bothered. Clara didn't fall for it. He kept sneaking glances back at her sly smirking face- he couldn't seem to stop himself. "Fine then. You go. See if I care- I'll have a great time. Without you. I'll incinerate all the pears you've brought in here. Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Can't say I'm entirely bothered, to be honest."

"I'll… I'll mismatch all your leftover socks so you've only got odd pairs! Ha!"

Clara shrugged her shoulders. "Whatever."

The Doctor was beginning to run out of ideas. It was showing on his face. "I've got it! _I'll _go to the best soufflé kitchen in the universe _on my own _and make soufflés. Hmm… I love soufflés. You like soufflés, don't you, Clara?"

Clara arched an eyebrow sceptically. "You wouldn't."

The Doctor arched his eyebrow, mimicking Clara. He leaned in a bit further. "Wouldn't I?"

Clara shook her head firmly. "No, you wouldn't."

The Doctor sighed, leaning back again so that his head was against the headboard. "No, I probably wouldn't. No fun without you."

Clara grinned. She'd won, yet again. "Correct answer, chin boy. Now won't you let me pack in peace? Thanking you."

Clara continued to glance around the bedroom, ignoring the crescendo of sighs coming from the Doctor which seemed to get louder and louder the more she ignored him. Seriously? She was meant to believe he was a thousand years of age? More ten. Perhaps younger.

It was when he got to his loudest sigh (that sounded almost a plane crashing or the TARDIS when it was landing) that she abandoned the packing for the second time, pouncing onto the bed and making the mattress shake with her sudden weight.

She crawled over to the Doctor so that her body was directly on top of his- and he looked pretty surprised about it.

"Clara?" he squeaked.

_Well, you better enjoy this._

She pressed her lips, hard, colliding with his. At first he awkwardly shuffled, murmuring as she abruptly committed this intimate action with him. Her hands were pushing hard onto his shoulders and the bed was moving against the wall. Then he began to settle, enjoying it…

Then she retracted. A little breathless but thoroughly fulfilled. "Will that shut you up?"

She grinned as he just laid there, his mouth moving but no words appearing to come out of it. She'd made him speechless. "Good. Now, if you let me leave, there might be a bit more where that came from."

He nodded, still slightly dazed. "That's f… Fine by me! Absolutely fine. Spiffing."

She fastened her suitcase together, satisfied that she had enough to be going along with. "Well, if you drop me off, I'll… Wait a minute."

The Doctor sat up, still recovering but pretty much okay now. "What is it?"

"…This is a time machine."

"Yeah?"

"So you could drop me off, switch a few levers, pick me up- it'd be a week later for me but just a few minutes for you."

A gradual smile took over the Doctor's features. "Yeah…"

Clara narrowed her eyes, shaking her head. She threw another cushion at him.

Maybe he wasn't as stupid as she'd thought.


	2. The Snogging Booth

**A/N: Wow, thirty follows for one chapter? Kind of overwhelmed. Hope this doesn't disappoint Dx**

**Wasnt the bells of saint john good? The snog box sounds like a good idea to me...**

**All reviews/follows/favourites appreciated! Also, I would love a few prompts!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who.**

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**The Snogging Booth**

_In which the Doctor and Clara end up trapped in a wardrobe and Clara takes an opportunity._

At that precise moment in time, the wardrobe in the corner of what appeared to be a child's bedroom seemed to be the most convenient option in the Doctor and Clara's current situation- and, to be perfectly honest, anything that came anywhere close to convenient right now the Doctor wouldn't mind accepting.

He pulled on Clara's arm and she let out a shriek of surprise, but he instantly gave her a glare which suggested she refrained on making any more noises. He ran towards the cupboard, possibly the fastest he'd ever run and flung open the doors- shoving Clara inside without a second thought for her welfare and him climbing in less than a second later. He pulled the doors tightly shut behind him; the noises and shouts of the guards dimmed to a more muffled tone.

"A wardrobe? Is that the _best _you can do?" Clara stage whispered, pushing back rows of petticoats or god knows Tudor garments so she could be face-to-face with the Doctor.

"Sorry! Didn't see _you_ having any better ideas!" the Doctor countered, in the same loud-whisper. "The cupboard was the closest!"

"Oh yes." Clara nodded sarcastically, "I can see why hiding in a bloody wardrobe can save us from Henry the Eighth, Doctor. Logical. We're in a wardrobe, so he won't be able to find us. This is the guy who beheaded the people he didn't like, remember?"

"Yes, I know!" the Doctor hissed, "Believe it or not, I have come across Henry before, Clara. And to be honest we didn't get along that well last time either."

"Oh _great." _Clara announced, throwing her arms up for added emphasis. "I didn't think there would be much of an opportunity of haggling our death sentence with Henry the Eighth, but now that seems even less likely because he's already met _you."_

The Doctor thought that comment was entirely prejudicial. "One, you weren't there." he pointed his finger at her in time with his words, "And two, you were the one who accepted his marriage proposal! Now, sorry, but does this situation look more like your fault, now?"

"If you were already in trouble with him, you should never have let us come." Clara grumbled, folding her arms. "And you know that I didn't accept it on purpose. He was talking at me from a distance, okay? I just saw mouth movements and I thought, well, its Henry the Eighth, Clara, remember? He _decapitates _people who disagree with him. So, smile and nod, Clara. Smile and nod. How was I meant to know he was asking me to marry him? We'd barely even spoke!"

"It's Henry the Eighth, Clara. He's a bit of a maverick." the Doctor ran a hand through his hair, his expression beginning to look a little desperate. "I've been in this situation before. You'd have thought I would've learnt."

"Sorry?" Clara exclaimed, "You just said that you'd been in this situation _before?"_

"Yeah. My friend kind of got married to big Henry." the Doctor noticed Clara's disgruntled expression. "Long time ago. Thought he would've got over it by now, obviously hasn't."

"Yeah, well, he's a bit of a maverick." Clara snarled- quite out of character for her, the Doctor thought. Maybe the pressure of becoming a royal spouse was getting to her. Speaking of pressure, it was beginning to get to him too- if Henry found them, it was probably beheading (especially for him) or give Clara up. And there was no chance that was going to happen. He was _never _going to give Clara Oswald up.

The pair of them remained silent for a few moments; the only sound coming from within the cupboard was their harsh and jagged breathing and possibly the sound of Clara's heart beating. Despite her being angry at the Doctor's negligence, Clara's hand managed to work its way from her lap into the Doctor's palm. He squeezed it comfortingly and for a moment, she felt a little less scared.

"If it helps, I know the headsman quite well. Phil, top fella." the Doctor announced, toning his voice down to a much quieter tone. "Still lives with his mum- shh, don't tell anybody about that! He's quite embarrassed, bless. Decapitating heads wasn't his first career choice believe it or not. He really likes knitting. And baking. A knitting and baking headsman!"

"Well at least we'll have a good conversation topic when our heads are on the _chopping block!" _Clara hissed, "He'll be able to give us the ins and outs of home economics! I got a D in that at school. They wouldn't let me make soufflés."

Despite the situation, the Doctor chuckled. Clara Oswald did make him laugh.

The booms and yells outside of the wardrobe seemed to be getting louder; footsteps coming up the stairs and searching the floor they found themselves on.

Clara's breath hitched. "They're getting closer. Look, I know he's royal and I honestly wouldn't mind being a Queen, but I do _not _want to marry that man."

"I don't want you to marry him either." the Doctor admitted, to Clara's surprise. "We'll get out of this. Probably."

Clara smiled slightly. "Encouraging."

"I am encouraging!" the Doctor argued, "Clara Oswald, in all the time we've travelled together, when have I let you down?"

Clara raised an eyebrow. "Well…"

"Well," he prodded her slightly with the sonic screwdriver in his other hand, "Not this time. Because I love you, Clara. And I never, ever let go of the people I love."

He reiterated that comment in his own head; noticing how crude and untrue it was. He'd let so many people down- people he'd loved so much, held so dearly to his hearts. People he'd let go _because he had to._

But not Clara Oswald. Not this time, not ever. Because she was _different._

Clara smiled and he smiled back at her. Then she did something was he did not entirely expect.

She'd leant forwards and kissed him. Not just a quick peck on the cheek; a full on lips-against-lips interaction that lasted more than a couple of seconds. Soft and sweet yet lively and energetic- just so _Clara. _

Clara noticed his shock when the interaction was complete. "What? You can't just say you_ love me _and expect me not to kiss you!"

He touched his lips as if to feel remainders of what now was gone. "I said I loved you, but…"

"Oh shut up. It was going to happen at some point. I just… Speeded it up." Clara grinned, "And besides, when best than in a wardrobe with imminent death looming? I saw an opportunity. And I took it. And you liked it."

The Doctor's mouth opened and closed a bit like a goldfish, his cheeks flooding a pleasant shade of pink.

Clara bit her lip and shook her head. That man.

She clasped her hands round his cheeks and he looked even more startled, she moved her lips in for another kiss and he accepted it more this time- reciprocating more and letting his hands slip round her waist despite being in the tightest space possible. That didn't seem to bother Clara or the Doctor.

And, at that exact moment as if on cue, the wardrobe doors flung open. And stood at the entrance was Henry the Eighth. Who wasn't best pleased.

Clara and the Doctor instantly backed away from each other, the Doctors hand darting around as he looked for his sonic screwdriver.

Henry's mouth formed into a snarl.

"Doctor?"

"Yes, Clara?"

"This isn't good, is it?"

"No, don't think it is. Many things about this are very not good."

"Should we run?"

"Yep! Good idea! Let's do the running thing, Clara Oswald. The kissing thing we can do a bit later."

"No opposition from me!"


	3. I Only Know Who

_A/N: This is quite a fluffy one. Wow, I am spoiling you with 11/Clara stuff, aren't I? I'm going to try and post something every other day for the next week and a half before I go back to school... Then updates will be few and far between :( Also one note, **I can't write 'intense scenes'. **I'm underage so that seems a bit innapro, sorry! Kissing is as far as I go, but I can do intense kissing, haha._

_Reviews are my favourite. Also, please give me rated K-T prompts! I will love you forever. And please review. Please._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who._

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**I Only Know Who**

_In which the Doctor gives Clara a TARDIS key for the second time._

He's got a key for her. Well, he's had it for a long time really, readily cut for when she next jumped into his life (which she always would). A small, silver key which slotted perfectly into the lock on the TARDIS door; all hers. _Always hers. _

The only thing is, he's a bit reluctant to give it to her officially. It's always in his jacket pocket, just sitting there amongst empty packets of jammy dodgers and bowties which don't work ("Doctor, I am not going out with you in that _monstrosity_!") and bits and bobs which he's collected from their travels together which don't really have much worth, but feel so special to him because, well, _Clara. _He's well aware that it's in there, waiting to be handed to her. And he _will _hand it to her… Just when?

It's not that he doesn't trust her with it. Heck, he trusts Clara more than anybody in this universe; but, last time when he pressed this valuable piece of metal into her palm, she was taken from him in one of the cruellest ways possible. He can still hear the clink when it dropped to the floor: the loud, metallic twang as it clattered against the surface and her scream as that horrific ice apparition snatched her legs from beneath her.

In that moment, that one moment where he was finally beginning to see the light and give up the cold and lonely isolation he'd set himself and give up that horrible old life that she'd _made _him give up, it was almost as if the darkness was beginning to settle again. It didn't, but if it happened again, if she was _stolen _again, would he be able just to carry on? It had taken him so long to find Clara again- he might not be able to another time.

He worries that if he gives her a key _now, _she'll end up like the two Clara's he'd lost before. Dead. Gone. And he kind of likes this Clara and isn't prepared to lose her for a third time.

Another reason: he's scared at how quick Clara has made him trust her. It's nothing conscious: she just has this air about her –aura, if you will- which automatically makes him think that she's worth investing his hearts into. He's pretty sure she hasn't done anything out rightly special to make him feel this way: maybe it's because she's Clara. Yeah, that makes sense. She's Clara.

(That's going to be his answer for everything now. Well, she's Clara.)

He probably should give her the key. Yes, he's giving it to her quicker (well, mentally, as he hasn't yet given it to her _physically) _than Rose or Martha or Donna or Amy, or probably anyone in fact, but he wants her to have it. The key to his home. His _life. _Because, come on, giving Clara a TARDIS key meant a lot more than her just being able to access the TARDIS. He didn't give keys out like jelly babies- he gave them to people he trusted _unquestionably _and _irrefutably. _People he trusted not only with the most powerful ship in the universe but, also, with his hearts. The part of him that kept him going and living and breathing- understandably, he doesn't let just anyone get this close and personal.

But she's Clara.

He's sitting on one of the steps branching off into separate parts of the TARDIS from the control room, Clara singing to herself as she studies intently the different levers and buttons which are scattered across the hexagonal platform. She often spends several minutes just examining, on her own, trying to figure out the mess of controls in front of her. Most of the time he goes over and helps her, shows her how the odd thing works, impresses her while she does her best not to look impressed. However, right now, he has other things on his mind (by other things he means her, of course) and she's perfectly happy on her own.

He rummages round the pocket of his new purple jacket and sure enough, the cool, silver key which has Clara's name written all over it is still in there like it always is.

(There's also a rather arresting on the eye sock amongst the variety of paraphernalia which he has in there, which he has no idea how it got in there as he's never seen it before in his life. Better keep that quiet.)

The key still remains cold despite it sitting in the heat of his palms. He toys with it for a few seconds; skimming the jagged edge with his middle finger and smoothening it with his thumb. In the back of his mind he can see Clara point two's expression when he first handed her a key- so happy and overwhelmed that tears helplessly started to fall and she had no idea why.

He then quickly flicks a glance at Clara, _now _Clara, _his _Clara and he decides that the key should now belong to her properly. Whatever happens, she was always going to remain under his protection and whether she owns a key or not, that was _never _going to change.

Because, remember, she's Clara.

He stands up, jumping two steps at a time so he can stand on the main central platform of the TARDIS, quickly so he doesn't change his mind. Clara barely looks up, too enticed by the impossibilities laid out in front of her and caught up in the complexity of it. She's clever and determined, needing to figure it out and register it in her incredible brain.

It's only when he begins to speak that she actually looks up and registers him. "Clara, I have something for you."

Her eyebrows furrow neatly, her mouth a confused frown. She then smiles a little. "You have something for me?"

"Yes." he replies needlessly, bounding towards her with a tiny leap in his step. "I do."

She grins widely, subsequently making him grin too because she does that to him. "Ooh, what is it?" she then looks sceptical, a single eyebrow raised, "It's not one of your weird food combos, is it? I'm still feeling queasy after those odd whatsit-berry milkshakes we had the other day."

"No! No, no food…" but he looks sort of offended, "Wait a second, my milkshakes are _cool! _You said you liked them!"

She narrows her eyes and folds her arms, like she always does when she contradicts him. "Was that before or after you saw me ever-so-attractively vomiting over the toilet?"

He scowls and grumbles for a few moments, making Clara laugh (whenever he was trying to be serious she always ended up laughing which wasn't the best, to be honest.). He then realises that he actually _did _have something important and serious to give her so he tries to divert the conversation to his original lines of enquiry. "_Anyway, _I do actually have something to give you, but if you don't want it…"

Oh, now he's got her listening. Her bright, hazel irises widen ever so slightly and she drops her arms to her sides. "What is it?"

He gazes at her for just a few seconds, taking in her entire, miraculous being. Her hair, which went from long and wavy to mid-length and straight; her rounded jawline and soft cheekbones; her small yet perfectly formed lips which created the most beautiful smile.

He smiles as he reaches out for her arm and she gives him in it, because she trusts him indefinitely like she's never trusted anyone else, nobody quite like him.

(The feeling of trust between the two of them is obviously mutual and always will be.)

He opens her originally clenched palm, folding out her fragilely elegant fingers one by one and she watches while he does this and doesn't try to stop it. He then presses the metal key, the one he's kept so long especially for her, into the centre of the hand.

Her lips part as she gasps ever so slightly. She _knows _what the key symbolises.

He folds her fingers back in and kisses her flesh softly, letting his lips linger longer than needed on her faultless skin. He likes the chasteness of it, how gentle it is.

For once, Clara can't find the words to say. She just looks into the eyes of the Doctor, her own full of wonderment. _Because he's given her a key. _They also glisten somewhat with unshed tears; not because she's sad, but because _he's given her a key. _

"You look after this, Clara Oswald." he murmurs into her fist, "Because, I don't know _why, _I only know _who."_


	4. Hold Me

_A/N: This is a tad bit angsty, but quite cute too. I hope you enjoy! Thank you SO MUCH for the amount of love you guys have given this little collection. There is one more on its way, then I'll be doing prompts which some of you have sent me:)_

_Reviews are my favourite._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who._

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**_Hold Me_**

_In which Clara has a nightmare, and the Doctor promises never to let her go again._

Sometimes she has nightmares.

Most of the time she doesn't like to admit it; a sign of weakness, perhaps. Clara Oswald is the kind if girl that keeps things that are hurting her to herself, however hard he tries to coax it out of her. She's stubborn, unbreakable even- and she doesn't want to appear anything less. She thinks if she shows any vulnerability the Doctor will think less of her (which of course he won't).

But he can always tell when something is troubling her, no matter how hard she tries to hide it. The more she denies it, the more he believes something is wrong. The more she pushes him away from her upsetting dreams the more _he _wants to come closer. It continues in this whole repelling attitude for some time- him pulling, tugging on her conscience yet the more he tugs the tighter she becomes. It distresses him just as much as it distresses her; it _hurts _that she won't talk. It hurts she won't confide in him. Because he- he would tell absolutely everything to her, and she knows it. It's one of those things that neither of them needs to say out loud but _they know it's true._

In the mornings, after a particular bad night that she won't _let _him interfere in, she just sits on the steps round the TARDIS control room and shakes. She tries to hide it, but every tiny little shift and convulsion in her delicate little body he notices like it's the most obvious thing in the world. He wants to hold her and comfort her and tell her it will all be okay but _she won't let him. _He's not used to this, somebody locking him out. Amy would always tell him everything, no doubt about it, even before Rory, her own _husband. _

"Are you okay?" he'll ask, even though it's blatantly obvious by the way she's savaging her thumb nail with her teeth that she most definitely isn't.

Normally she'll take several moments to reply before ending with a resolute 'yes' which means, without a doubt, _no. _But he can't say anything else because she just _won't. _So he leaves her, shaking, which is definitely not easy considering how much he cares for the human being he has in his care. The human being he holds so dearly to his hearts and loves so, so much.

But, one night, Clara's screams just can't be ignored because she wants him too. Sometimes you have to go against the words of the person you love because it leaves too much pain just to overlook. He'd hate himself just to abandon her when she's fighting with her inner demons when he knows that she'd look after him when he's sparring with his. It's that sort of relationship, his and Clara's.

On that night he's just sitting in the TARDIS library, mostly just waiting for Clara to wake up and partly because he enjoys the serenity of being around books (no Vashta Nerada in this library, thank you very much.). He can normally sit out the next six hours or so while Clara regains her energy in peace, mourning the people he's lost and cherishing the one he's got.

But it's the horrific, terrified scream which carries down the corridor that completely and utterly disturbs his current solitude. His ears prick and his eyes widen and he completely forsakes the tranquillity he's created in the past few hours or so.

_It's Clara._

He practically vaults out his arm chair, surprising himself with his own hand-eye coordination as he scurries across the carpeted floor with the skill of a person who does a lot of running.

His shoes squeak loudly against the metallic floor of the corridor and he doesn't even stop when he stubs his toe (hard) against a random box which appears to be lying in the corridor- Clara probably being nosey. Again.

When he comes to her bedroom door, which is open slightly, he practically throws it off its hinges with the amount of force he uses in order to open it fully.

"Clara?" her name catches in his throat as he pants in order to get his breath back. He then repeats this beautiful, sweet name needlessly because, well, he likes saying it. "Clara?"

She's curled up in a tight, foetal position in the centre of her bed, the duvet whipped off and thrown on to the floor in a messy heap. Her hair is damp with sweat and her hands are pulled across her _perfect _face in order to hide the tears she's shedding.

Except the hiding isn't working this time. Her body is convulsing so heavily with the sobs she's somehow managing to let escape that the mattress shakes.

_And it's killing him on the inside. _

"Clara?" he recaps, sprinting over to her bedside. She's so caught up in her own thoughts to even know he's there.

He dances around the bed for a few moments because he doesn't know what to do; he's not normally put in this situation. Amy had bad dreams, but she had Rory.

Who does Clara have?

_Him, of course._

He decides the best option is to scramble onto the mattress, beside her, try to stop the crying. Because it she doesn't stop soon he's concerned that his hearts might break.

"Hush," he says softly to her, stroking her clammy tresses softly with his hands in order to give her some sort of comfort. "You're safe here, Clara. It's just a dream. A dream."

She continues to sob although her body is beginning to relax, no longer trembling with the weight of her nightmares. "Doctor?"

She doesn't try and push him away this time, she doesn't try and protest. It's past all that now: she's wading too deep in order to get out on her own.

He plants a gentle kiss amongst her brunette waves. "I'm here. Always here. Always for you. I'm guarding you, remember?"

He sinks down into the mattress so he's lying down right next to her, their bodies' side-by-side: her back tight against his stomach.

"Hold me." she whispers desperately.

She lets her arm reach behind her so he can take it. Cherish it. And of course, he does. He brings her shivering palm to his lips, hoping to kiss some life back into them. This is not the Clara he likes to see- so vulnerable and _fragile. _Not the sassy, argumentative, pain-in-the-arse he has the pleasure of travelling with on a daily basis.

He uses his other hand to pull her delicate body right into his, tucking it taut against his chest. Letting her know that he's here to protect her, whether it's from her haunting reveries or reality. He's always there for her and she should never have to hide anything so damaging from him.

"I was… I was falling…" she starts to choke, but he shushes her.

"Don't speak." he murmurs into her hair, "You don't have to."

The sobbing subsides and she's almost back to her normal breathing after several minutes of them just being together. She begins to realise that maybe if she'd let him in earlier maybe things wouldn't be so bad.

"Don't let me leave you." she whispers softly, her hand still frantically clinging onto his and his squeezing hers like he's never going to let go.

He laughs slightly, tucking her even tighter into him for reassurance. "Never, Clara Oswald. Even when you're so sick and tired of me that you're begging for some sort of release, I won't let you go. That alright?"

She chuckles too. "Fine by me."

He grins as she begins to fall asleep, her breathing relaxing into short little snores, yet he still keeps as tight a grip round her for the rest of the night until she wakes up in the morning.

She doesn't have nightmares again after that.


	5. Stolen

_A/N: Right. This one has taken me ages to write and I'm not overally pleased with it so I'm sorry if you're disappointed! The sort of 'jealousy' scene has been requested a bit so... Plus, it features a special guest!_

_Planning on writing a few more established-coupley scenes in the future, maybe some baby fluff? Awww I think Clara and Eleven would make such good parents. Also some angst. Everybody loves angst, come on._

_I love reviews/follows/favourites! I really do love and read every single review I get but I just don't have the time to reply to all of them! Love you lots, every single person who has read/followed/favourited/reviewed this collection. It means so much. xxx_

_Disclaimer: Don't own anything recognisable, I just love these two._

* * *

**_Stolen_**

_In which Clara is mesmerised by a man in a grey trench coat and the Doctor is defintley, absolutely, conclusively not jealous. Not at all._

He'd decided to whisk her away to London, 1954, for (hopefully) a break from running and saving. Akhaten had seemed to have taken quite a toll on his new best friend: giving up two things which had meant so much to her and only one he'd managed to get back. The Doctor hoped that somewhere fun and carefree, such as post-Blitz London, would take her mind off what she'd lost and remember all the amazing moments they had to come _together. _New memories.

New leaves.

He'd suggested a bar, a sort of 1950's nightclub if you will, with plenty of music and dancing and normal human beings with normal lives. A place bright with happiness because the world's second greatest war had ended around ten years prior and everything, _finally, _was getting back to normal. No more bombings, no more terror, no more loved ones not coming home.

(Well. For now. They didn't need to know about the Dalek invasion quite yet, did they?)

He thought Clara deserved this one night of complete normality, after he promised her a new planet and no danger but ended up leaving said planet with less than they came with. She tried not to look upset about it, but he _knew _that she was falling apart on the inside.

Of course, she hadn't turned down the offer of going back in time. Despite having admitted that she'd always hated history lessons at school, she didn't mind reliving it.

"You see, I was always a more of a _doing _person at school." she'd said once, "And all my history teacher gave us was pictures and textbooks. I was like, how am I supposed to _really _know what history was like if I can't experience it myself?"

And he'd replied with a grin and a wink, "Well, you can _now, _Clara Oswald. Back in time, forwards in time, things that have happened, things that haven't happened yet… Where'd you want to start?"

-x-

Clara linked her arm through his as they made their way through the crowded hall, her lips forming the most beautiful grin as her eyes scanned the people who were dancing and laughing around her. People, who from her perspective, could be dead but were somehow _living. _An amazing yet horrible thought.

The TARDIS had chosen a dress for her, which came as a surprise to Clara but also made her feel a little happy inside: after fearing that the Doctor's beloved ship had taking a dislike to her (of course, she'd realised that the TARDIS wasn't just a ship, but living and sentient) she'd been a little weary. After all, she'd noticed the bond which the Doctor had with his ship. If the TARDIS didn't like her, there wasn't much point in her sticking around was there? But, alas, all her anxieties were immediately diminished when she'd found a blue-and-white polka dot dress with a gorgeous full skirt hanging in her wardrobe that very morning- which definitely wasn't there before. And it couldn't have been the Doctor's doing, as the measurements were exactly correct for her body-size. The Doctor knew a good deal about her, but not _that _much.

The Doctor grinned back at Clara, her innocence so endearing. Also, she did look rather pretty tonight, with her hair in waves and bright red lipstick and oh, those heels… Which, although made her taller, still made her a good few inches shorter than he was. He did like the height-gap, though. He liked an awful amount of things about Clara Oswald.

The hall was grand; although Clara didn't really have much to compare it to (she didn't really go out clubbing in the 21st century, never mind the twentieth). It had a small bar in the corner surrounded by bar stools, as well as a jazz band at the peak. Then, obviously, a massive space in the middle filled with people. Human people. After seeing Akhaten and all the variety of life-forms out there it was funny that places like this, gatherings of human beings, actually _existed. _Definitely not alone in the universe.

"Wow." she giggled, as the Doctor pulled her across to the edge of the room where a few seats were vacant. She sat down next to him, leaning in to his ear so he could hear her voice above the music. "This is really, actually, 1954? Like, really?"

"Yes!" the Doctor announced, beaming, clearly proud of himself. "Not bad, eh? Don't usually get the century right, never mind the year!"

Clara gave him a bemused look. Surely, if he'd been travelling for as long as he'd made out, he'd know how to fly his own time machine by now? "Okay. So… We're in the past. We're actually in the past. I get that. London?"

At the mention of London was when he grimaced. "Well. Nearly London. Just about 130 miles out."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly sceptical. "130 miles out?"

"More Cardiff?" he suggested, with a shrug of the shoulders. When he noticed Clara's smirking face, he gave her a poke on the shoulder. "Hey! You should be happy I managed to get the right year! Cardiff isn't so different to London, y'know, apart from the Welshness and the, uh, Welshy people. Sometimes I say _Rio _and get Wales!"

"Okay. Fine. Cardiff. Not so different, I suppose." she said, like she'd warmed to the idea. Her eyes wandered across the crowd, not disappointed by the sight of a considerable amount of soldiers (in uniform) that appeared to be around her. "Soldiers, too. Thought the war was over?"

"It is." he replied, following her line of sight. "But they keep their uniforms on. Don't really know why, probably for prestige and maybe heroism. It's…"

"Quite handsome." she finished the sentence for him, grinning to herself as she felt the Doctor shift nervously in the seat next to her and he adjusted his bowtie. Ooh, things must be rough if he was _adjusting his bowtie… _

Then, right next to the bar, a man is a steely grey military coat and scruffy dark hair caught her eye. She tapped the Doctor on the shoulder and pointed at where she was looking, him following her finger. "Especially him, over there."

The Doctor took few seconds to register who exactly Clara had her eye on, but as soon as said man turned around to look around the hall much like they were both doing minutes earlier he knew _exactly _who she was talking about.

_No! Clara Oswald must _not _under _any _circumstances meet that man!_

He grabbed her arm tightly with his hand, her squealing slightly in shock. He didn't like man-handling her like this, like she was his _possession, _but he felt like this was the only way they could possibly leave the bar quickly without _him _seeing her.

"What do you think you're doing?" Clara shrieked, rightly defending herself. "Get off me!"

"We need to leave, Clara. Now." he tugged on her arm, yet again, but she wasn't budging especially when he was talking down to her like that. "We're going somewhere else."

Clara laughed snidely, signalling that she wasn't leaving under _any _circumstances. "No, we're _not. _We've just got here and you _promised _me a fun night and just because I said… Wait, you're jealous, aren't you? Are you jealous of that random soldier?"

"No Clara, I am definitely not jealous of that man." he assured her because seriously, he wasn't. Not for the whole immortality thing anyway. And not in any other way either! Definitely not. _Absolutely not… _"We just really, really need to go."

Clara was still stubborn as ever (oh, why did he have to choose the stubborn ones? Such high maintenance) and adamant she was not leaving any time soon. "Anyway, we can't go now. He's coming over."

He turned around, a look of sheer terror on his face when he noticed that _Captain Jack Harkness _was bounding towards them with that usual horrible, flirty smirk on his hands- _horrible _face and that air about him which seemed to suck every and any girl in- including Clara Oswald.

_Maybe he won't notice who I am, and we can sneakily leave? No, he can't possibly know who I am yet. Way too early in his timestream by the looks of it. Besides, haven't met him in this regeneration yet. No. He can't possibly know me…_

"Doctor!" Jack boomed, clapping the wind out of the Doctor on his back, him shooting forwards. "Fancy seeing you here!"

The Doctor scowled, adjusting his bowtie yet again. "Yes, hello, Jack. Hello indeed."

"Changed a bit since we last met." Jack remarked, scanning the Doctor's outfit choice up and down. Clearly wasn't liking what he saw. "You were all pinstripes back then! Now you've got a… Bowtie?"

The Doctor self-consciously struck a hand to his beloved bowtie. "It's _cool! _And, anyway, how did you know it was me?"

Jack tapped the side of his nose knowingly. "Call it instinct, but only an alien would wear _that _combination."

The Doctor was trying (and failing) to come up with a witty response but in that time, Clara managed to interrupt. "Wait, you two have met before?"

Jack turned to face where the voice had come from (_oh, why did she have to speak?) _and, instantly, a smile crept round his face and seemed to heighten those sharp cheekbones he possessed. "Hello there."

Clara opened her mouth to speak, but the Doctor (who now had his arms folded and a very annoyed expression on his face) managed to interject. "Stop it."

Jack threw his arms in the air in mock surrender, shooting the Doctor a disgruntled look. "What? I was just saying _hello!"_

"I'm not talking to you," he beckoned his head in Clara's direction, "I'm talking to _her."_

Clara narrowed her eyes at him before getting up out her seat. For a small person she could throw one hell of a dirty look- he was surprised just how much disgust was present inside of her. "Stop talking down to me! You are _not _my dad. I can take care of myself!"

"And you're not my daughter." he muttered back.

"Well…" Jack interjected anxiously- what was this bickering? "I sense some friction, so I'll…"

"Yeah, you probably should-" the Doctor added, trying to make him take the hint so this lovely night he was supposed to be having _alone _with Clara could go as it was meant to.

But, Clara, being the stubborn arse she was, felt the need to urge Jack to stay. "No, please stay. The Doctor is being an idiot." she turned to the Time Lord and gave him a look which said _do-as-I-say-or-you-will-face-the-consequences. _"Doctor, care to introduce us?"

The Doctor scowled furiously for a few seconds. "Fine." he waved his hands frivolously between the pair as a gesture of introduction. "Jack Harkness, Clara Oswald. Clara Oswald, Jack Harkness."

"_Captain _Jack Harkness," Jack winked, making Clara giggle. He leaned down and kissed her hand softly, and the Doctor couldn't help but turn away as an adorable flush of pink graced her cheeks.

"Ooh, a Captain," Clara flirted, "I've never met a Captain before."

"Well, I'm privileged to be your first." Jack replied, taking her hand in his. _Well, he isn't a real Captain, _the Doctor thought. "Would you care to accompany for the next dance, Miss Oswald?"

"I'd be obliged." Clara thanked him. "I'm a bit new to dancing, though."

He pulled her arm so she was further onto the dance floor. She laughed as he span her round in a circle. "I'm sure I could show you a few moves, Miss Oswald."

And the pair found their way to the centre of the room, and the Doctor lost them both among the crowd- a sort of knot of feelings and emotions twisted in his stomach which he hadn't really felt since, well, since _Rose _was that enticed by the mysterious Captain.

He should've known. Cardiff? 1954? Of _course _Jack was going to be there. Of _course _he was going to mesmerise Clara. He mesmerised everybody with that grin and his cheesy flirting that he managed to make smooth.

If the Doctor ever tried to flirt with Clara, he'd probably end up squirming like a fish out of water. Not that he'd want to flirt with Clara in anyway. They were _friends. _Yet, he couldn't help but feel…

He stopped staring across the hall and started to make his way over to the bar.

Alone.

-x-

He'd managed to catch Clara about ten minutes later, after the second dance had ended. She'd picked up the moves easily and hadn't left Jack's side, apart from now.

He was sat on a barstool. She jumped up next to him. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. Fine." he smiled slightly, a lemon soda in his grip. "Always fine. Tippity-top."

She ordered a drink. "Okay… Well, Jack is nice. I don't see why you don't like him."

"It's not I don't like him." the bartender passed her the drink and she handed over some money (probably Jack's.) as he replied, "He's bad news Clara. Really bad news."

She paused for a moment to sip a drink, a sort of confused look on her pretty, round face. "Are you jealous of Jack?"

"No!" he replied, possibly a little too quickly so that it made Clara laugh. "No, definitely not. Not Jack, not ever. You really don't understand him, Clara."

"Fine! Good." she jumped off her stool and grinned. "Just checking. Wouldn't want you to be secretly longing a dance with me, would I? As long as we're clear on that."

"No. I don't want to dance." he turned back to his drink and gestured towards the middle of the hall. "You go with Jack."

She looked slightly disappointed by this, so she just shrugged her shoulders and walked off.

He didn't see her for a long time after that.

-x-

Right. He'd had enough.

He'd spent over two hours just watching Clara laugh and sing and dance with Jack- that really was supposed to be _him, _not Jack! He'd brought Clara here to have a good time with _him, _nobody else, and to be honest he didn't care that that was selfish. He liked Clara a lot and it wanted it to be _him _that made her happy, not some flouncy American-accented not-really-Captain that she'd just met two minutes ago.

(Okay. Fine. He couldn't really dance and he definitely couldn't sing, but he could make her laugh. Quite a lot.)

Should he do something? Should he steal her back?

He rested the glass on the table and stretched his legs, getting out his seat.

He _had _to do this. He wasn't going to lose another companion to Captain Jack Harkness' charm.

He pushed his way across to the centre, not really caring that he'd appeared to have knocked a couple of people to the floor and tripped over a table leg. He'd spotted her, in that _amazing _dress, and when Jack had turned his back he went in and grabbed her hand.

She squealed a bit in surprise, too shocked to say anything as the Doctor dragged her half way across the room, and then she (sort of) realised that he was in fact pulling her away like a little kid (which she definitely wasn't). "Wait, what are you doing? Get off me!"

He was too strong for her: why did she have to be so damn small? She tried kicking out but her attempts were hapless. "Doctor, for God's sake, stop grabbing me! I'm _twenty-four _years old!"

He ignored her.

He pushed her up against the wall in the hallway which he'd discovered was currently empty. The music was muffled from within. "Right. I haven't done this very often, but…"

Clara looked reasonably confused as he found a place to put his hands- deciding to place them on her shoulders. He'd patted them a few times for good measure.

"Doctor," she asked, not scared just confused, "What the _hell _are you doing?"

"I'm not sure." he replied, "Bit of a novice when it comes to this…uh…thing."

"What thing?" she sighed frustratedly. Why was he being so vague?

"This thing." he answered like it was the clearest thing in the world. "Ah, well, better get on with it."

She was about to reply with 'get on with what, exactly?' when something completely and totally unexpected happened.

The Doctor leaned and kissed her.

He pressed his mouth directly on hers, his hands digging into her shoulders as his lips crushed hers. She was slightly surprised but she didn't just stand there flailing: her hands made their way to his hips as their tongues intertwined.

Wow. Hadn't put the Doctor down as the full-on snogging type, to be honest. She didn't think he could kiss like that at _all._

After a kiss that felt like minutes but was probably seconds the Doctor eventually let go, panting and breathless because well, he'd never kissed anyone like that. Well- he didn't usually do the kissing. Most of the time it was the other party who kissed _him._

For a few moments they just looked at each other, her hazel irises capturing his with their brightness and mischief. "That thing. I don't normally do _that _thing."

"Oh. Right." she grinned. "Me neither."

They were interrupted by a round of applause that seemed to erupt from the doorway nearby: and, sure enough, there was stood Captain Jack Harkness with a massive grin on his face.

"Didn't expect that much of a treat!" the clapping subsided. "Didn't know it was my birthday."

The Doctor cringed and ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, did you see all of that? Of course you did."

Clara laughed at the Doctor's discomfort.

"Heard all of it. You two really are adorable." Jack grinned, putting his arms around the pair of them. "Now, what I recommend is that you both get back to that snog-box of yours and do some more _private _dancing. Okay? Okay? Yes. Good. Bye."

"See! It _is _a snog-box!" Clara exclaimed.

The Doctor shook his head superfluously. "No, it isn't…"

"Well if it wasn't then, it is now!" Jack announced, pushing the two of them into a forced hug which he found very amused. "Now, please scram, otherwise I may be forced to come with you and make sure you do as I ask."

Both Clara and the Doctor did not want Captain Jack on their backs (it was creepy if nothing else) so the Doctor linked hands with her.

"Clara Oswald, would you care to accompany me to the TARDIS?" he asked, a smile on his face.

"Of course!" Clara replied, squeezing his hands. "I'll do anything you say for you to kiss me like _that _again."


	6. Most Definitely

_A/N: This is very fluffy and possibly my favourite so far. Enjoy, don't hesitate to tell me what you think! Lots and lots of whouffle love xxx_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who._

* * *

**_Most Definitely_**

_In which Clara plans to bake, but when the Doctor arrives things take a slightly different turn._

It doesn't take him long to work out where Clara Oswald is situated within the TARDIS: when they weren't in the control room or by each other's side, she was always in the kitchen (or, perhaps, in her bedroom; but usually he was in there with her too) baking. Or _trying _to bake. Most of the time it turned out to be the latter, as frequently her culinary endeavours ended up just a bit shy of successful.

(And, when he says 'just a bit', he technically means disastrously wrong and the complete opposite of successful, with remains of a somewhat cremated mound of egg whites and flour which she _claims _is a soufflé. He begs to differ in his head, but out loud that doesn't seem such a good idea.)

So, when he peers round the door of the TARDIS's kitchen (well, one of them, but this particular kitchen Clara had claimed as her own and she, or him as a matter of fact, hadn't used any other since) it doesn't surprise him to see her in there. It does, however, surprise him to see that instead of 'baking' her usual soufflé failure she's standing on her tiptoes on the edge of a stool trying to reach for something which is absolutely most definitely out of her reach.

He leans in the doorway, an amused smirk on his face as he watches Clara's attempts to grab what appears to be a bag of flour from the highest cupboard in the kitchen. Her slight grunts of concentration and determination are somewhat endearing. "What are you doing, love?"

She trembles a little with the shock of an unexpected voice from behind her, grabbing onto the shelf to regain her balance. She then throws a dirty look over her shoulder, which, if looks could kill, would have the Doctor on the verge of regenerating. "What does it look like, Sherlock?"

He chuckles at her response, so sarcastic, as usual. "Having problems?"

"No." she scoffs, propping her hands on her hips. "No, I'm having a whale of a time up here, thank you very much. Never realised just how fun it was standing on the edge of a _very wobbly _stool to reach something which I'm kidding myself that I'm ever going to achieve. So, yeah, no problems. None at all."

"It's your height." he points out futilely (and foolishly) as it is blatantly obvious that Clara had already realised that that was the issue here. "Or, rather, your lack of it."

She points a finger accusingly at him, that same dirty look flitting over her features. "Seriously, one more jibe about my height…"

"Fine, fine!" he throws his hands up in a mock surrender, "No more height jokes. Promise. After all, good things do come in small packages, as I discovered on the Dwarf Planet of Majacia a while back. The people there are _very _small but they were very nice indeed! Treat anyone above the size of two foot like a God. Which, actually wasn't good, as I later realised that… What?"

He pauses because Clara is looking less than happy about his little anecdote (ha, little, the people were very small! Get it? Dwarfs, little anecdote… Never mind) and is most probably going to throw something at him.

"So, you're comparing me to a _dwarf _now?" she hisses.

"No! No, definitely not!" he protests even though he feels like he's digging himself into an even deeper oblivion. He desperately racks his brain for something to counter Clara's statement because if he doesn't, there's a chance that he will be in her bad books for a long time. And he certainly doesn't want that. "All I was saying, Clara, is that quite a lot of good things are below average in the size department. Small, but in a good way! And that's you, because you're small, but a nice small! Good small. Brilliant small. Fabulously, amazingly…"

"Okay! Fine, I get the picture." she assures him, but the scowl on her face has now dissipated into a smug little grin. Of course, she would've let him go on about how _fabulously brilliant _she is, but she does actually want to get on with some baking (which she will actually get right this time) and she won't manage to do so unless he stops talking and helps her with attaining this _damn _flour. "So are you going to stand there watching my arse or help me?"

He flushes slightly and he does that thing where he just opens his mouth and closes it like a goldfish which she _so _enjoys watching. He often does that when she flirts with him and she finds it quite adorable. "Clara Oswald, I was not… Never mind."

He doesn't even bother arguing anymore. It's far too late for that. "How would you like me to help?"

She leaps down lightly from her stool so she's back on level ground, without any danger of the stool collapsing from underneath her. She dusts down her knees for no apparent reason. "I'd like to stand on your shoulders."

"My shoulders?" he retaliates, a look of slight dread crossing over his face. "You want to stand on my _shoulders?"_

"Yes." she nods, not seeing how that would be in any way a problem. "That should give me enough height in order to reach it." she hesitates a moment to think, her bottom lip jutting out slightly as she does so. "Come to think of it, I definitely didn't put the flour up there in the first place. How'd it get up there?"

"The TARDIS doesn't like it when you keep obliterating her kitchen with your gastronomic disasters." he grunts, taking off his jacket and laying it across the table. After all, if Clara was in fact going to stand on his shoulders, he would prefer it if she didn't get any footprints on his coat. "She's probably placing stuff out your way on purpose."

"If anything, that's just mean." Clara mutters. She knew the TARDIS didn't like her. "And as if you could do any better."

"I'm sure I probably could. I've baked… Plenty of times." the Doctor replied.

Clara folds her arms and raises an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge?"

He mimics her, he too folding his arms and trying to raise an eyebrow- although, the eyebrow thing doesn't really work and he looks a bit like a surprised mole. "I think it is."

"Well." Clara places her hands on his shoulders with a sly grin on her face, "We'll see, once you help me get that flour."

He sighs with defeat. As if he was ever going to win against Clara Oswald. So he walks (more like a slightly anxious jaunt) over to the stool, gesturing for Clara to climb onto it for easier access to his shoulder blades.

"Why thank you." she smiles, taking his hand as she manages to haul herself up on the stool. She grips tightly onto the edge of the cupboard for balance, before steadily releasing one foot and pressing it onto the Doctor's left shoulder. He groaned a little bit with the pressure, but he still held tight onto Clara's hands as she let herself up.

"Blimey." the Doctor grimaces, his shoulders trembling as Clara stretches them to the limit with her weight. "For a small girl, you aren't half heavy!"

"If that was an insult to both my height _and _weight, may I remind you that I am currently standing very near your head."

"No insult!"

"Good!" a beat. "Aha!"

Clara grabs the bag of flour happily, but unfortunately the TARDIS doesn't like the fact that she's managed to get round her coy trap and the bag, it turns out, has a hole in it.

The flour escapes out the paper packet, unexpectedly to Clara, and shoots out all down her face and hands. The white powder tickles her nose and…

"ATTISHO!"

The Doctor is so shocked by Clara's sudden sneeze that his body abruptly loses control, completely losing balance and it looks like…

THUMP.

The pair of them land, hard, on the floor of the kitchen: the Doctor on his back and Clara directly on top of him.

"Are you okay?" the Doctor asks, breathing shortly.

"I sneezed." she decides to reply with, but that doesn't technically answer his question.

"I know." he says, then laughs. She laughs too because, admit it, it's pretty funny. "You've got flour on your nose."

"I have?"

"Yes." he realises that his hands are otherwise indisposed (i.e. Clara is currently squasing them) so the only way to rid Clara of her powdery nose is to dart out his tongue and lick it off.

So he does.

It happens so quick that she's not sure it really happened at all. "Did you just lick me?"

He's not sure that he'd done it either, but he probably has. "I think I did."

"Oh. Right." she processes this little exchange in her head, not sure what else to do about it. "I liked it."

"You did?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Should we do some baking later? I think we could possibly do something else right now."

"…Yeah. Definitely. Here or…?"

"In the kitchen?"

"I don't see why not."

Clara grins, pressing a quick kiss against his lips. "Okay then."


	7. Or Not At All

_A/N: Oneshot number seven! Seriously I'm so happy with all the reviews and follows and stuff this story is getting. I think this is the most followed under the Clara O. tag! Wow._

_Please do review! They're awesome. I love follows and favourites too! I've also just posted a new story called **A Proposal of Sorts** that you should check out too :)_

_Also... I've been thinking of getting a tumblr to post my fics and stuff on. Should I? Would you follow me?_

_whouffle love xxx_

_Disclaimer: Don't own don't sue._

* * *

**_Or Not At All_**

_In which Clara tries to risk her life for the Doctor but they risk their lives together instead._

He should never have brought her here. Albeit, he didn't know that the Jungle Planet of Algethria was going to be absolutely overrun with a new, stronger fleet of Daleks; but he should've checked the _possibility, _however _unlikely, _before they'd even left the TARDIS. He keeps forgetting these tiny little aspects of keeping people safe; just checking, doing a quick security scan of the immediate vicinity, they would have took off straight away and went to another planet with less Daleks and more, well, not-Daleks.

What did the Daleks want with a Jungle Planet anyway? Algethria was inhabited with one ancient tribe, about five thousand people, why… _No. Don't get interested. Just get Clara out, okay? Don't let her down, not like…_

No. He can't think about her.

They managed to find a sort of hut where the native Algethrians used to reside before… Well, before the Daleks came. It was flimsy, it was breakable, but the TARDIS was literally six foot away outside. Hopefully, now that the huts had been cleared, the Daleks wouldn't look back in them and they'd be safe for now. They'd find them eventually, of course. They always did.

All they needed to do was get to the TARDIS and they'd be okay. The only thing standing in their way was the fact that two Daleks were standing literally right outside the blue double doors.

He pulled her down behind a table made of tree branches, out of sight of the open door. Her breath was long and haggard; her face trying not to look terrified which, ironically, made her expression look even more frightened.

"Are we going to be okay?" she asked, her eyes staring up at him unblinkingly like if she shut them for a second she'd miss something.

The Doctor kept perching up slightly behind the table, checking the outside for Dalek intruders, then slamming back down again as soon as the mechanical whir of the monster's armour reached his ears. He looked back at Clara, her petrified expression making him feel scared _for her. _He smiled, even though it was totally pointless. "Yes."

"I'm guessing that's a lie." she replied, her chest still rising exponentially with every single breath she took. She grinned at him. "It always is."

"No, no." the Doctor encouraged, tapping her on the shoulder with his sonic screwdriver, "We _are _going to be okay."

"But those creatures…" Clara paused, catching her breath again, "How are we ever going to get past them?"

"No idea. But I've done it before, and I'll do it again." the Doctor squeezed her hand, a reassuring smile on his face. "We both will."

He wasn't going to lose another companion to the hands of the Daleks. He couldn't save her, but he could save _Clara._

_Oswin Oswald! Junior Entertainment Manager on Starship Alaska!_

No! Stop it! Now is _not _the time to go reminiscing. Oswin, well, she was _gone _now, but Clara… She was still here, still living, still breathing: and that was the important thing. There was no point worrying about a person who no longer was alive when there was someone still mortal next to him.

_Exterminate! Exterminate! _The familiar metallic grate of a Dalek's voice was echoing around outside; and never got less horrific every time the Doctor heard the demonic electronic growl. It brought so much _pain. _Too many memories he didn't care to remember.

_Eggs… Eggs… Eggs-ster-mi-nate…_

"Oh. Great." Clara's little voice came from next to him, still drizzled in sarcasm despite its horrified undercurrent. It was also a little higher in tone, almost a squeak. "They're coming nearer!"

He didn't know what words he could use to comfort her because _nothing _was comfort when you were face-to-face with those malevolent psychopaths. They always seemed to win and they never seemed to lose. He'd lost everything yet they still carried on. Why was that fair? How…

He wrapped his arm round her shoulders and squeezed them tightly. "We _will _get out of this. I promised you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but still…" she looked up at him with wide eyes, her eyebrows raised up too. "Pretty scary guys, aren't they?"

He laughed. Somehow she made the Daleks sounded like a group of gangsters that hung around street corners with their hoods up, not universal mass-murderers with a craving for hate and genocide. "Yeah, they are."

"So how are we going to fight them?" she asked, her face still in that same expression.

He hesitated. No, he couldn't risk her. He couldn't risk her by throwing her in the battlefield, not like he risked Oswin.

_Remember me._

"We don't." he decided, making her look slightly startled. "This time, we just get away. We're running, Clara. We're running away from this place."

"But what about the people here?" she responded, "What if these Daleks spread out across the galaxy and destroy _everything?_ We don't walk away."

Oh, using his own quote back on him. That hurt. "The people here are all dead, Clara. There's nothing we can do but just run. We can't destroy them and we can't stop them so we run back to the TARDIS because, right now, that seems like the only option."

"Alright." Clara said, sneaking a look behind her but the Doctor slammed her back down. She shot him a disgruntled look but he gave a just as disgruntled one in return, meaning _don't you dare. _"Well, it looks like we're not going to get very far. There's some of those Dalek things outside which we're never going to get past. Will they get bored eventually and we can make a break for it?"

The Doctor shook his head dismissively. He tossed his sonic screwdriver up and down in his grip, as if it would give him answers. "No. Unless they get a call from their Emperor or something and get beamed up to their spaceship, but that is me being horrendously optimistic. Daleks don't give up when their searching for something. They _never _give up and they most certainly _never _back down."

"So," Clara mumbled, "They're going to find us eventually."

"Yes." the Doctor grimaced, "Most probably."

"Still wondering how you're going to fulfil that promise of getting us out alive." Clara laughed nervously, but the Doctor didn't laugh along with her. He cupped her face gently with his left hand, gently caressing her smooth cheek with his fingertips.

"Hey." he said, her eyes boring into his. She smiled a little. "Don't you go doubting me, Clara Oswald. There's always a way out."

She grabbed his wrist with her hand. "Maybe not this time. Unless…"

He raised an eyebrow. He hates this 'unless'. He hates pretty much any 'unless' that comes out of Clara's mouth, as it almost always means she's going to do something incredibly stupid and irresponsible in order to keep him safe which he can never let her do.

In this case, he just so happens to be right.

"I could run out. Distract them." she told him. Her eyes immediately looked down at his lap because she could feel his disapproving glare. "Then you could get in the TARDIS and fly away because they'd be so preoccupied by me."

He shook his head indefinitely, dropping his hand from her face. "No! Absolutely not."

"Why?" she shrugged her shoulders, "It's either us both dying in here or the possibility of one of us dying out there. So what's it to be?"

His brow furrowed as he scowled, waggling his finger at her furiously because he can't quite believe what he is hearing. In fact, he can _believe _it, he just won't in a _million years _accept it. Ever. "No! No, no, no, no! You are _not _risking your life for me against those creatures, Clara. Not now, not ever. I've lost too many people to the hands of the Daleks"-_does this look real to you, Oswin?- "_And I am _not _losing you too."

"So we're just going to sit here and _both _die." Clara scoffed, "If the universe loses me, that isn't important. I'm just Clara Oswald a normal, British, twenty-four year old girl. I don't save the universe! That's _you! _I don't want your death down to me, Doctor. The one thousand year old Time Lord who saves whole universes on a _daily basis! _Without you, everywhere will be ruins. Without me, nothing will have changed."

And for a few moments he just stares at her, with utter disbelief and _pain _on etched onto his features. Tears almost pricked at his eyes, these ancient eyes at just that whole statement. She thought that? She really, really thought that? "Don't you dare say that. Don't. You. Dare."

"It's true though, isn't it?" she said, pushing her ponytail from hanging loose on her neck to behind on her back.

"No it most definitely isn't. You know why, Clara Oswald? I may be one thousand years old but that does not make you less important than me." he grabbed her, pulling her into his chestand pressing a kiss on her forehead which was sheened slightly with sweat, but he didn't care. "You have saved my life in so many ways, Clara. You don't need to do this because you've already rescued me from that horrible, dark oblivion. That place I don't ever want to go back to."

She rested a hand on his chest, one of his hearts rippling underneath her fingers. "But we can't just sit here. They'll find us and we both won't be okay."

He smiled. He ran his hand through her hair, untangling knots with the strokes. "I'll be fine and you will be too. I'm not letting the Daleks win, not this time."

He rummaged his hands through his coat pocket, before bringing out his sonic screwdriver. "Maybe if I emit a sonic pulse that'll prick up their ears, get them searching around a bit… Might give us long enough to escape."

"How long?" she queried.

"About… Two seconds?" he saw her gasp and he grinned. "You can do plenty in two seconds! We can run six foot in two seconds, definitely."

"Really?" she smiled anxiously, "I don't think I can."

"Of course you can, Clara Oswald!" he kissed her extravagantly on the cheek, making her push him away bashfully. "Ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." she said.

He reached out his hand, wiggling his fingers in a way to her entice her hold. She gave him a look but took it anyway: as if she ever wouldn't.

His finger hovered over the button on the sonic screwdriver and he smiled at Clara one last time. "Together, or not at all."

"Together." she grinned, "Together all the way."


	8. Through Her Veins

_A/N: This is a prompt given to me by an anonymous reviewer! Anyhow, hope you enjoy, although I don't know whether this is a bit similar to my last one :/_

_Love reviews! They're my favourite. But I like follows and favourites too._

_Whouffle love xxx_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, unfortunately._

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**_Through Her Veins_**

_In which Clara is poisoned and the Doctor can't save her. Or can he?_

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why the heck was he so _stupid? _Over a thousand years he'd lived, yet had he learned anything at all? He was so busy showing off (and showing _her _off) and trying to get a reaction out of her that he forgot the basic rules of so called time/space travellers 'common sense'. He forgot that she was only human: she had only one heart beating inside her chest, no chance of regenerating and no chance of just walking away from death. Once she died, she was gone. Even though she'd hate to admit it, Clara Oswald was just as breakable and fragile as the rest of the human race. One life is all she had.

(Well. If you didn't count the two versions of her he'd met before, of course. But Oswin and Clara Oswin were _different _from this Clara. They sounded the same, looked the same, but Clara had made it sure she was her own person. Nobody else. And, even though there might be another Clara out there somewhere, he liked this Clara rather a lot and did _not _want to lose her.)

Anyway, back to the stupidity. His absolute insolence and idiocy.

He'd taken her to The Forests of Cranahelem as she'd requested something breath-taking and beautiful: and Cranahelem seemed like the perfect location with trees of gold and rivers of silver, named one of the seven wonders of the universe. He was so pre-occupied by her momentary (one of the times she allowed herself to look impressed) amazement that he forgot to warn her about Cranahelem's butterflies: large, rare winged creatures with gorgeous metallic colours which reflected off Cranahelem's twin suns.

The butterflies, however, held a lethal venom which was fatal in only one species in the whole of the universe.

Humanity.

He should've warned her not to go near any; he knew they were rare, hardly ever seen, but knowing Clara Oswald she just seemed to _magnetise _trouble. The kind of girl who unknowingly walked into the most horrendous situations which she most likely would be stuck in if he didn't come along and get her out.

However, quite a lot of these said situations weren't life-threatening. They were pretty much easy to get round if he used the good old 'hero of the hour' technique and a quick flourish of the sonic screwdriver. But this? _Poison? _He couldn't just give her a once over with the sonic and a hug to make it all okay. There wasn't a lot he _could _do.

This was all his fault. _Why didn't he warn her?_

The venom took only twenty minutes to hit critical, before the poison reached her lone heart and severed the muscle from her arteries. Only twenty minutes before her lungs couldn't take any more oxygen and she couldn't breathe. Only twenty minutes before all her organs and her whole body went into complete shutdown.

Only twenty minutes before she _died. _And she'd spent five of those twenty minutes insisting she was fine. Which he should've _never _believed.

"Are you alright?" he'd asked, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. She'd been dragging behind instead of running ahead like she'd done for most of the day, too excited to walk slow in this amazingly brilliant world like a little kid in Disneyland.

"Yes." she'd blinked a few times when she'd finally reached him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm f-"

Then her legs fell from beneath her as her body went incredibly weak all of sudden: him gripping her waist before she hit the floor in a crumpled heap. She tried to scramble to her feet again, but her head was spinning far worse than the most horrible migraine she'd ever experienced and, partly, because she could no longer feel her legs at all.

He quickly laid her on the bronzed grass, desperation flittering through his pupils as he felt for a pulse at the wrist of her left arm. He found a soft beating, just a little slower than normal, but getting slower… He rummaged through his interior pockets of his jacket for his trusty sonic and did an immediate current health scan on her, her face grimacing at the noise and the green glow of his device.

_Cranahelem Poison: 76% until critical._

"Oh no, no, no…" he murmured, stuffing the sonic back into his pocket. Why? Why _her? _He scooped her petite body into his arms and despite her squirms clutched her as tightly as the human body would allow without crushing her. The TARDIS was literally thirty foot away, down on a hill of bronze, so luckily he'd be able to run and get her into the infirmary.

_Stupid!_

Her consciousness was slipping away as he pelted over the grass, her hazel irises dulling to a dusty brown as the poison ravaged its way through her bloodstream. Her skin, usually a pretty, pale pink, now was a scary bright white.

_No. Not Clara. Not _his _Clara._

"No. _You're _staying awake, Clara." he told her as her eyelids began to flicker, rolling back into their sockets. "You are not going to sleep now."

Because, if she lost total consciousness, the poison could annihilate her that much faster. Strip the life away from her.

"What is wrong with me?" she murmured, her words slurred together in a jumbled mess that the Doctor could just make out.

"Nothing is wrong with you," the Doctor lied as the TARDIS doors opened: by themselves, as if she knew that the Doctor didn't have time to reach for the key. She always knew. "Because you're going to be fine."

She laughed deliriously, the venom making her head feel light and sleepy like when she'd had happy gas to get her wisdom teeth taken out when she was a teenager. "We all know that's a not-so-clever lie."

Clara Oswald knew him too well. "It's not a lie. It's the truth. I _know _you'll be fine."

As he said this, he couldn't help but think of how many times he'd said this to people and known it was an untruth. He'd said it to the other Clara, Clara Oswin, and she'd died. Right in front of him.

But not this Clara.

He practically sprinted across the control room into the left middle corridor; the infirmary the first door on his right. The TARDIS had moved it for him again- it was closer than he thought.

He looked up the ceiling and smiled. Oh, his Sexy.

The infirmary was a mess of medical equipment from a variety of different planets: Gallifrey, Earth, Apalapucia, New Earth- not all compatible with the human species, but a good deal of it would co-operate fine with Clara's blueprint. Well, it was going to _have to _co-operate fine. There wasn't time to get her to a good hospital now.

He lay her on the bench on the side, her body folding and her limbs weak like she couldn't move them anymore, no longer attached to her mainframe. She looked like a ragdoll: all limp and lifeless and desperate, not Clara. It was like the life was just _draining _out of her, leaving her with this emotionless, weak casing with nothing inside but darkness and desolation.

He found a cloth in one of the cupboards, soaking it through with freezing cold water and rushing back over to here. He pressed a hand on her forehead- she was burning up. Her _whole _body was burning up; the heat from her skin left sticky sweat residue on his palms. He gently laid the flannel on her forehead to make her more comfortable, smoothing his hand across it and water dribbled down her flesh onto her cheeks, making it look almost like tears.

Or was it tears?

_53% until critical._

She moaned slightly, but she couldn't really envision reality from her nightmares anymore. She could see the Doctor, with his stupid quiff and his bowtie, but everything else seemed such a muddle. She could see other shapes too, she was _sure _it was her mum standing in the corner. But how could it possibly?

The Doctor danced around the infirmary, chucking contents out of a variety of draws in order to find something that would obliterate the venom pumping through her veins. Boxes and boxes and bottles and bottles were flying across the room, he had to find one somewhere, he just _had _to…

Aha! Cranahelem poison tablets, eliminates venom in blood, not suitable for human consumption…

For Rassilon's sake!

He threw the box on the floor in a state of desperation and rage, the little green caspules scattering across the tiled floor. This was all _his _fault! All down to his bloody _stupidity!_

He just started grabbing things in anger at himself; glass and wood and metal, crashing them against the wall and the floor. He kept doing this. He kept making things _his _problem and that in turn _killed people. _He promised to keep people safe and yet he destroyed them! Amy and Rory, now Clara…

"Doctor!"

He barely heard the squirm from the corner of the room; it must have been the third or fourth time it had been said. He instantly dropped the utensils he had gripped and ran over to her. "Clara?"

"Stop it." she murmured quietly, her lips hardly moving as she spoke. "Please."

And he looked her, her helplessness of her demand, and his hearts broke.

He leaned down next to her, gripping the hand which hung loosely off the side of the table. He kissed it, the soft, tender skin, and he felt an inkling of a squeeze back.

"This is all my fault, Clara." he said, separating each word out with a hesitation in between. "I should've told you. I should've told you about the poison."

She smiled slightly at this, closing her eyes. "It probably would have happened anyway."

"No, no, it wouldn't have." the Doctor told her, still gripping onto her palm. "I should've kept an eye on you, Clara."

"Where is the fun in that?" she coughed weakly, "Please, stop blaming yourself. This is not your fault."

No matter how much someone told him to stop beating himself up, he always blamed himself. It's just what he did. She was under his protection. And he'd let her down like he'd let everyone else down too.

"I'm so sorry, Clara. There's nothing I can…" he covered his face with his hands, refusing to let his distress show. How could he possibly carry on without Clara Oswald by his side? He _needed _her. Yet he was the one who lead her hand-in-hand to her death. "Clara, I can't, I've tried…"

She smiled, yet a tear streaked down her cheek, filled with so much hurt. "If only there was a medicine that cured everything. Maybe that could help you, too."

"If only there was…" he skimmed his thumb across her cheek, wiping away the solitary tear from her cheeks. Then… "There is!"

He quickly scrambled to his feet. New Earth, the year five billion? That big hospital with Cassandra and Rose and the cats and that medicine!

If he was lucky, especially lucky, he might have took some of their medicine back with him…

Come on universe. Just this once.

He grinned. "Clara Oswald, you are _brilliant!"_

He sprinted around the infirmary, rummaging through cupboard after cupboard when finally, aha! A bottle of the most peculiar looking medicine in the entire cosmos. He messily grabbed a syringe from nearby and poured the liquid inside.

_2% until critical._

Clara had now passed out, her eyes closed. It wasn't too late.

He jabbed the syringe into the flesh of her arm, the liquid running through the plastic container into her blood. Come on, come on…

"Don't go giving up on me yet, Clara Oswald." he grinned, "No, you keep fighting."

-x-

Less than twenty minutes later, Clara's bright hazel eyes flickered open.

"Doctor?"

And he just grinned and kissed her, because she was alive and breathing and… _Clara. _All his. His amazing, brilliant, incredible, Clara Oswald.

He was definitely not going to let her go and get herself poisoned ever again.


	9. Fish Fingers and Custard

_A/N: I swear I was going to write a oneshot based on one of the lovely prompts one of you brilliant readers sent me today, but this adorable idea popped into my head this morning and I couldn't resist. Beware: this has such a high fluff content it may be bad for your health. Enjoy :)_

_On another note: one hundred reviews! Wooooow. Wasn't expecting that! Thank you so so so so much. Don't forget to review this chapter too, it makes my day: I do try to reply when I have time!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who._

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**_Fish Fingers And Custard_**

_In which Clara isn't sure which food she's craving: so the Doctor introduces her to the best combination in the universe._

"Bananas!" the Doctor announces, pulling out a bunch of the yellow fruit from the bowl in the centre of one of the kitchen worktops. He rips one of the bananas off the main stalk of the hand, examining the ins and outs of the fruit that never ceases to amaze him but is a lot less amazing to Clara. "You've got to want bananas, Clara."

Clara shakes her head profusely. She turns away, the very sight of the fruit almost making her retch up the little she's managed to keep down all day: and by little, she means nothing at all. She hasn't managed to eat since at least last night when the Doctor practically _forced _some toast down her.

"What?" the Doctor approaches her, peeling the banana slowly with every step he takes. Clara shuffles further back on the table she's just about perched on the closer he comes, which is considerably difficult considering her current physical condition. "How can you _not _want bananas? Bananas are good!"

"Keep _that thing _away from me!" Clara warns, trying to supress another bout of vomiting, "Otherwise I might after rush off to the toilet again, and seeing as the rushing thing is getting a hell of a lot more difficult I might not get there in time and heave all over your floor like last time."

The Doctor grimaces at the memory, deciding it's probably best that that doesn't happen again. Very messy. Instead, he backs away with a shrug of his shoulders, taking a bite of the banana as he goes. "Fine. We're just going to have to find something else, then. Still got any clues what you want?"

Clara pulls herself back onto the edge of the table so she can allow her legs to dangle freely down the side. Her face creases with thought, but she still can't seem to answer the question the Doctor has set to her. "I know I want _something, _but I don't know what that something is yet."

The Doctor sighs. This is probably going to take a long time. Clara couldn't even occupy herself by making soufflés anymore: something about the raw eggs when separating the whites from the yolks making her feel ill. There didn't seem to be anything she used to eat _normally _that didn't now make her retch, and when she did find something she could eventually keep down for a few hours it appeared to be some of the most perculiar food combinations that he'd ever seen.

(Although, he didn't mind that. He actually quite enjoyed odd food combinations, and Clara eating them as well gave him the opportunity to eat them with her without being picked on. It actually made her feel better if he ate with her, which seemed to make it a win-win situation.)

He scans the fruit bowl, grinning when he sees an abundance of oranges in there. He grabs one gleefully and shows it to Clara across the room. "What about an orange? You must want an orange because, well, they're orange and they're called _oranges! _Only fruit in the universe with the same name as its colour. Incredible!"

Clara pulls a face which makes the Doctor's fall. She's sad to put a dampener on the Doctor's boundless enthusiasm, but no, not oranges. "Too orange."

He picks up the six other oranges in the fruit bowl and aims to balance all seven at once: but the Doctor, lacking in the hand-eye coordination and making up for it in the clumsiness department, ends up dropping all said oranges all over the floor in a disastrous attempt of juggling.

He doesn't even bother to try and pick them all up again. Instead, he grumbles: "No, Clara, you don't want oranges. These ones are obviously broken."

Clara stifles a giggle, failing almost as disastrously as his juggling. "Whatever you say."

He grins again once the oranges have rolled out of sight, diving into that, what seemed to Clara, bigger on the inside fruit bowl. This time he comes out with two, shiny, green apples; throwing one over to Clara who catches it hastily, then just as hastily places it on the side and pushes it further away from her.

"Don't like apples." she remarks, staring at the fruit like it's going to grow legs and trot over to her any second now. "Never have."

"What about this?" he throws the second apple over to her, and when she turns it around in her palms she realises that he's carved two eyes and a mouth into the bright green skin.

"Oh great. Now an apple who looks _slightly _pervy." she mutters, nevertheless the notion makes her smile.

"I used to never like apples," he tells her, a sad smile on his face, riddled with nostalgia and a slight tinge of heartbreak. "So my friend carved faces into them."

She can tell by his face that this friend he's telling her about is someone that he's lost: he always does that regretful little smile when he talks about someone whose gone and it does slightly kill her every time. She still hates apples and won't ever eat it, but she clasps it to her chest in anyway and keeps it. "Maybe later. But apples are _not _the things I want."

He rolls his eyes: he didn't expect this pregnancy to make her _this _fussy. However, he can't really blame her, can he? That would be a bit unfair. She is a human carrying a _Time Lord _baby, after all; metabolisms do clash and, to be honest, she'd been coping so well so far. Even though he'd never seen a human carry a Time Lord baby before, he'd guessed the foetus would probably have a drastic effect on her system. Even though she'd never admitted how tiring physically as well as mentally it was for her, he could tell she was finding it difficult: horrific morning sickness, obscure cravings, the most horrendous mood swings (Rassilon, they were _terrifying!)- _and, from his calculations, she was only on month five of approximately twelve so, realistically, things were only going to get more challenging from now on.

He was going to be there for her every single step of the way, though. This was _their _baby; something he thought he would never get a chance to have again once Gallifrey burnt and he was left alone. Turns out, he just needed to find and fall in love with the right Earth girl and he could have everything he'd ever wanted.

Clara Oswald was that very right Earth girl. Everything he'd ever wished for in a partner in human form: brilliant, sassy and stronger than anyone he'd ever met.

And, now, they were going to have another little person too. This knowledge excited and scared the two of them at the same time- probably more excitement more than anything else, though.

So this craving stage was something they were both going to deal with together.

"You have to eat something, Clara." the Doctor says, running a hand through his hair. "It isn't good for you, or…"

He gestures towards Clara's front with a flick of his wrist.

Clara hugs her stomach protectively, her hands reaching her back. "Well, if this baby is anything as fussy as _you, _there's no hope of finding anything I can eat, is there?"

"I am not fussy!" he retaliates conclusively, throwing his hands up for added emphasis.

"I beg to differ," Clara scoffs, "Your look of utter _disgust _when you caught me indulging in a plate of baked beans the other day…"

"Beans are evil." he hisses quietly, his eyes narrowed.

"Exactly!" Clara argues, and then her face falls. "Didn't manage to keep those down, either."

The Doctor pulls a face, but then an idea hits him. Surely, if… Well, he/she/it is bound to like them, isn't he/she/it? If he/she/it is anything like himself…

"I've got something you might like." he smiles, walking over to her and holding her hands in his in order to help her get off the table where she's sat without killing herself.

She gently hauls herself off the table with his assistance: when she finally manages to get off, she pulls down her dress slightly so it fits over her slightly expanded stomach better. She looks slightly sceptical at the Doctor's announcement, as he's said it many times and it rarely happens to be true. "Okay. What?"

"You have to wait and see," he says cryptically, making Clara groan, "I can guarantee you, Clara Oswald, if this baby is anything like myself, you will like this."

She raises an eyebrow. "Okay… Anything is good, I suppose."

He opens the door from the kitchen to the corridor, beckoning Clara out so she can leave him to cook this delicacy without her seeing. "Go and read or something, I'll come and get you in twenty minutes or so."

She steps out into the hall, lingering in the doorway for a few more moments. She smiles up at him, this magnificent man. "Love you."

And he smiles back, genuinely, because he does. So much. "Love you too."

-x-

Almost half an hour later he calls her back through, and she's so famished that she walks as fast as her currently restricted body will allow. In the kitchen the Doctor has set two chairs opposite each other round the table. In the centre of the table there appears to be a plate of around two dozen fish fingers and…a bowl of custard?

Clara smirks, folding her arms. "Fish fingers and custard? Really?"

He grins back, pulling on her arm so he can lead her back to the table. He pulls out her chair for her and she smiles graciously as she sits down, shifting uncomfortably for a few seconds until she finds a position she can retain. She scans the food laid out in front of her incredulously; she's eaten quite a few weird foods in the past few months, but none as odd as this.

"Try it." the Doctor says, "Trust me."

And she slowly reaches out for one of the fish fingers, because when the Doctor says 'trust me' she genuinely does. Every single time. She flicks a glance up at him and he's still encouraging, so she leans in and dips it in the yellow, creamy custard.

She takes a bite, not knowing what to expect, but knowing it can't get worse than throwing up. At first the taste is a little weird, the fish mixing with the sweetness of the custard, but once she's chewed it over a couple of times it actually tastes… _Nice._

As she swallows, the Doctor waits with bated breath for the moment of truth. Clara waits also, as if she needs to wait for a bit to know whether her body is going to react to the fish custard combo.

And then she grins when she realises that she has managed to keep it down, making the Doctor grin back. "I can eat it! I can _actually _eat it!"

"Told you so." the Doctor replies, reaching for a fish finger so he can enjoy this incredible taste sensation too. "Fish custard: the best meal in the universe."

She happily dips the fish finger in the custard again and takes another bite, and it goes on like that for the next hour: the two of them, sat round the kitchen table, chomping their way through twenty-four (and then another fifteen, with two extra bowls of custard) fish fingers and her chirping on about the most menial things and him laughing in response. They discuss their future, the scariness to come, yet how incredibly excited they are for what's to follow too. A whole new chapter in both their lives.

He can't help but smile when he looks at her; custard smeared down her left cheek and her hair scruffy and loose for ease, the light tone to her voice and the happiness present within her.

And he swears, at this moment, she's the most beautiful he's ever seen her.


	10. Definitely Not A Moody Cow

_A/N: My most requested from you lovely people was another pregnant!Clara fic, so here it is! This will be the last one for a while though I think as I have many prompts to get on with! Hope you enjoy :)_

_Reviews/favourites/follows are well amazing!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who._

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**_Definitley Not A Moody Cow_**

_In which Clara experiences a rather violent mood swing and the Doctor has to deal with the consequences._

"What if it's a girl?" Clara asks from the corner of the room, where she's wedged in the middle of a very comfortable sofa flicking through a magazine, in between mouthfuls of some sort of food she's eating. The Doctor isn't exactly sure _what _she's eating: mind you, she was always eating something lately.

(Once she'd got past the stage of eating practically nothing at all she'd moved almost straightaway into the stage of eating rather a lot. And that's a good thing, most definitely, as a Time Lord baby is quite a draining thing on a human girl like her and Clara really needed to eat as much food as she could in order to keep it healthy.)

The Doctor, who is painting the wall a very bright and vibrant shade of blue, shoots her a confused look over his shoulder. He plonks the paintbrush back into the tin, which mysteriously has no label on it to distinct which shop it had come from. "So what if it's a girl?"

She tips her head slightly to indicate she means the wall, not looking up from her magazine and her bowl of… Ice cream, was it? He couldn't tell. She did like her ice cream though, especially recently. "Blue is a boys colour."

The Doctor rolls his eyes, picking up the paintbrush again. He loves Clara, he really does, but she can be so challenging on his mental state at times. "It's TARDIS blue, Clara."

"So?" she shrugs her shoulders, taking another spoonful of ice cream and swallowing. She turns another page in her magazine (what is she reading?) and her eyes widen a little. "It's still blue. And blue is for a _boy."_

"No," he continues to retaliate, annoyed slightly by the fact Clara isn't actually looking at him but seems more interested at some bare-chested bloke in her stupid gossip magazine. He tries not to be jealous, but fails substantially. He knows she's committed to him and he's absolutely devoted to her, but he can't help but think he can never compete with the world of celebrity culture. "TARDIS blue is for _anyone. _Boys and girls. Everybody likes TARDIS blue."

Clara sniffs. Even though she and the TARDIS have made some sort of agreement to tolerate each other now Clara was here to stay, they still weren't the best of friends. "It's okay, I suppose."

The Doctor grumbles at her nonchalance. He throws the paintbrush back into the tin, watching as little splatters of blue jump out of the container onto the carpet. "Well, sorry, I didn't see you having any better ideas! You're too busy swooning after artificial monsters in that magazine and _eating _to help!"

She pauses as he says this, another spoonful of ice cream entering her mouth. After a couple of seconds she slowly removes the spoon, pointing it at him. "One, I was _not _swooning. Just admiring. And two, if you haven't realised, I happen to be a bit on the large side and can't appear to stand up from this position, so _sorry _if I'm being so bloody _useless."_

He grimaces. He forgets how tetchy she can get thanks to her hormones (which he decides are best left out of this conversation). "Sorry."

Now, she's getting into full angry-Clara mode, throwing down her magazine onto the sofa for added impact. The Doctor starts to get a bit scared and almost exits the room as he knows it will take her a while to catch up with him, but even he isn't that mean.

Although Clara's moods are frankly _terrifying. _So he backs up against the wall.

"You know, it's been bloody difficult carrying around a bloody Time Lord baby for the past ten months, and then I have to carry it around for another two months as well as that, which is three months longer than normal!" her face has gone a little red as she gets into full flow, the Doctor trying his best to wait it out. Like a storm. Yes, accurate description. "And then _you _don't make it any better by having a go at me for being _useless! _Sorry, is carrying your baby not enough? Do I need to do more?"

"No, Clara, I-" he tries to explain as she's got it all wrong, her spur-rage clouding her vision, but he stops when Clara starts violently sobbing right in front of him. From absolute, conclusive fury to utter desolation in a matter of seconds.

He immediately darts away from the wall he's no longer pressed against in fear to the sofa, tentatively wrapping an arm her as she just wracks out more and more sobs. She covers her face with her hands as he pulls her closer.

"Hey, hey," he mumbles into her hair like he does all the time when she gets this upset. This has been rather frequent as of late, with her emotions going haywire. "What's all this for?"

She doesn't reply for a few moments, she just presses her head into the Doctor's chest and soaks his shirt with her tears. He doesn't mind. She deserves to let it all out, as he's realised.

"I'm sorry," she gasps, and he kisses her forehead.

"What have you got to be sorry for?" he queries as he strokes her cheek with his thumb, "From what I can see, it's _me _who needs to be sorry. I'm a silly Doctor. Stupid Doctor. Selfish Doctor. I don't know how you can stand me."

"You're perfect." she says, her sobs beginning to ease, "I'm just being a moody cow."

"You have every _right _to be a moody cow," and then he hastily interjects, "Not that you _are _a moody cow. I'm not in any way inferring that you're a cow, Clara Oswald. Definitely not. All I'm saying is, you have every right to be angry with me once in a while. I'm not the one giving birth, am I? I'm the lazy one. You're the one doing this amazing, _magnificent _thing while I just have to stand back and watch."

Then, she looks up at him right into his eyes, and just starts laughing.

Just like that.

"What?" the Doctor furrows his brow like the last two minutes didn't happen at all. "What? What is it?"

Clara can't speak for a good minute or so because she's laughing so hard, the tears beginning to fall for the second time but in happiness rather than sadness. He's not sure whether he should try and halt her giggles because all that laughing can't possibly be good in her position- but he worries that will just make her laugh more.

"You've got paint," she pants, trying to get her breath back, "All over your face."

He frowns, feeling his cheek with his fingertips then scowls when he realises they've been dyed a bright blue. Clara imbeds her face into his chest and he can feel her laughter on his torso. He can't help but chuckle too because, well, when she laughs he can't help but laugh too.

When she comes up for breath he wipes his fingers on her cheeks, leaving deep blue fingerprints down her jawline: which make her look incredibly adorable.

She gasps then scowls, hitting him playfully in the chest. He expects her to say some sort of witty remark to put him in his place, but instead she leans forwards ever so slightly and presses her lips against his.

He can't help but grin as he slips her arms round her waist, careful not to grip her too tight but as current Clara doesn't realise; she's so concerned by wrapping her arms round his neck and kissing him senseless to even give a second thought to the person inside her.

And, really, it's just a little bit brilliant.


	11. An Unexpected Twist

_A/N: This promt was given to me by the lovely **Kitty Am I!** Thank you! Hope you enjoy and please review! :)_

_Also I've got a tumblr now. You should follow me. I'll probably post my whouffle stuff on there. My username is souffles-and-stardust._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who._

* * *

**_An Unexpected Twist_**

_In which Clara plans an un-birthday party for the Doctor and they end up, well, distracted._

Do Time Lords have birthdays?

That's a question that has often popped into Clara's head; a thing she thinks about frequently, when she and the Doctor aren't being chased by some psychotic alien race of course. But that one thought always seems to be floating around in her brain for some reason and it really, _really _bugs her. Partly because she's never had the nerve to ask an one-thousand year old alien when exactly that birthday lies and mostly because she has done absolutely nothing about it.

They'd celebrated her birthday before, of course, because they'd been travelling together for over a year now. The Doctor knew exactly when her birthday was and didn't even have to ask (like usual) and on the day he was armed with balloons and streamers in the control room, looking like a right idiot with that big goofy grin on his face. Even though she'd deliberately _not _told him as she wanted no fuss, she couldn't help but grin as gave her a cupcake covered in bright scarlet frosting (her favourite colour) and clasped a TARDIS key on a long silver chain round her neck.

"One year older, Clara Oswald," he'd said as tied a bunch of balloons to one of the levers on the TARDIS control panel. "How do you feel about that?"

She'd shrugged as she toyed with her gift dangling round her neck, smoothing the jagged edge with her thumb. "Like any other day, I suppose."

"No, no," he'd shook his head profusely, "I meant, how do you feel about spending another year with me? I mean, if you want to. You don't have to."

She'd laughed while he looked down at her with innocent eyes, not understanding the humour behind it. She'd slapped him playfully on the arm and gripped his hand in hers before saying, "Of course I do, you stupid man! Another year and another million after that."

And he'd chuckled, tucking her in for a hug which involved him letting his chin rest on her head while her face nestled into his torso; him feeling her gentle breaths on his chest. "If only that were possible."

He was always so thoughtful, so caring of her, so _devoted- _yet she never really did anything for him in return. Companionship, maybe, a person to help him carry the burden of saving the universe and someone to stop him from being so lonely. She did all that subconsciously, not realising; maybe she _should _do something for him. Just to say _thank you. _Thank you for saving her in so many more ways than just physically.

So she decides she's going to throw him a birthday party, just the two of them, like he did for her. She knows it's not his birthday. She doesn't even know if Time Lords have birthdays- how long, exactly, was a Time Lord year? But it didn't matter because she was going to do _something._

So when the Doctor is fixing some wibbly-wobbly stuff beneath the TARDIS control panel she makes this her opportunity to grab some balloons and streamers and decorate the TARDIS for him, while he jabbers on to her about some spinny-whatsit device flux-thing and she says a nonchalant 'yes' or 'uh-huh' in reply.

(He doesn't think a thing of Clara's insouciance. She's always like that when he's talking technical about the TARDIS. He puts it down to jealousy, him paying more attention to the TARDIS than he is to her, just so he doesn't have to believe that she's actually bored. Which she most probably is.)

She's put a soufflé in the oven which is due to come out in the next five minutes and she is going to get it right this time: they've made an agreement. Well, she'd told the egg-milk-flour concoction before she'd put it in the oven that it better get it right this time otherwise they were going to have serious problems.

Not that the soufflés actually cared. They still turned out too beautiful to live anyway.

She stands back and admires her handiwork and manages to add another uh-huh before she hears the Doctor traipse back up the stairs to the control room.

"Happy not-birthday!" she exclaims, pulling a party-popper in celebration, which startles the Doctor slightly and he looks like a rabbit in the headlights.

He looks around at the variety of balloons and paper chains she's speed-decorated in the last ten minutes and he laughs with delight. Oh, yes, Clara Oswald is rather magnificent. "What's all this for?"

"Well, I don't know when your birthday is," she says, perching a party hat on top of the Doctor's head (which makes him look even more delighted) and then snapping one on her own chin, "So I thought I'd throw you a party anyway."

He doesn't really know what to say: none of his companions had _ever _thrown him a party before. He doubted they'd even thought about his birthday; he didn't expect them to.

Then again, Clara Oswald was rather unexpected.

He's about to grab her and hug her but then an unfamiliar stench of what he thought was burning filled the air. He raises an eyebrow at his best friend as he knows this smell is probably all down to her. "What are you burning this time, Oswald?"

Her eyes widen and she brings her hands to her mouth, "My soufflé!"

She runs out the room and he's quickly on her heels; and sure enough he leads her to the TARDIS kitchen where a horrendous amount of smoke is emanating from the open door.

She's coughing up a storm so he wraps his jacket sleeve round her mouth so she won't inhale the smoke and he chokingly manages to say, "Extractor fans on!"

The TARDIS immediately carries out the action, the thick black smoke instantly dissipating and leaving a clear pathway to the oven. Clara skids over to it and grabs the oven mits on her way; hauling open the scorching metal door and removing a charcoaled, cremated mound which he can only assume is meant to be her soufflé.

Her face falls at her disastrous attempt. "I was really going to get it right this time."

"It doesn't matter." he says sincerely, because it doesn't. He'd be more concerned if she'd got it _right._

"It was for _you _though," she whimpers, "I was going to get one right for _you._"

He grins and shakes his head. She cares, so much. She cares a lot more than she should. So he takes the mound from her hands and immediately disposes of it, before pressing his hands on her shoulders.

"It doesn't matter if your soufflés aren't right." he says, brushing a stray strand of brunette hair behind her ear, "Because you, Clara Oswald, are very, very right indeed."

And he leans in and kisses her on the lips; she's a little surprised but reciprocates softly. She kisses different to what he expects she would; it's not fiery and passionate but soft and gentle and sweet and so, so perfect.

She realises that she didn't need to bake him a soufflé to show how much he means to her.

Just being _her _was enough for him.


	12. Not So Difficult

_A/N: Prompt given to me by the lovely Mainli! Enjoy and don't forget to leave a review! And also go follow my tumblr - souffles-and-stardust :)_

_{Btw this oneshot is set during the next episode, 'The Crimson Horror' which hasn't yet been aired- but has been rumoured to show the Doctor and Clara pretending to be a married couple called Mr and Mrs Smith. Just to clear that up.}_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who_

* * *

**_Not So Difficult_**

_In which the Doctor and Clara realise that they are pretty much a married couple._

The pair of them are sat in Clara's bedroom; the Doctor occupying himself by sitting on the edge of the mattress and thinking just how bouncy Clara's bed is, while Clara is fixing her hair in the mirror: her head is just a mountain of tight curls piled on top of each other and he really does wonder how gravity alone is fixing them up.

"Sooo…" he says, straightening out the top hat which he has acquired for this particular occasion, "What do normal, human, married couples do then?"

She gives him a look via the mirror, her eyebrows narrowing at his reflection. She removes the hair grips which she held in her mouth to pin back her curls before she scoffs, "How am I supposed to know? Not exactly married, am I?"

"No," he admits, not appreciating her tone, "But your mum and dad were married." he pauses to reconsider, "Are married?"

"Weres fine." she mumbles. Still a touchy subject.

"Yeah. Anyway. What did they do?" he asks again as he tries to be sensitive. The Doctor may be educated in a whole manner of things: cheese-making, liquorice tasting as well as a gold medal in flower arranging at the Top Notch Olympics in 2045, but your average human domestic relationship was pretty much alien to him.

She shrugs nonchalantly. "I don't really know. Mum died when I was sixteen and I wasn't really that _observant _when it came to their relationship or anything." she diverts the subject from her past to his. "Surely you've had some married couples on the TARDIS before?"

He sighs, smiling sadly at the thought. Oh, Clara. "Yes. Of course. But hardly the most conventional couples. You can't expect couples who travel with me to be _normal _Clara."

"But surely there is a running theme?" she says, the Doctor not quite understanding. She elaborates. "Y'know, things that all couples do. Mannerisms, interactions, that sort of thing. The things that stay the same whether you're either time-space travellers or average human beings."

The Doctor racks his mind and eventually comes out with, "Well. There was a lot of kissing."

"Oh." Clara smirks, "Down boy."

He gives her a look which signals _you know what I meant, you cheeky minx. _Well, without the cheeky minx bit obviously. Even though that is exactly what Clara Oswald is. A minx. _Stop it!_

"Clara!" he scolds, although he can't really stay mad/embarrassed when she does that pert little giggle she does whenever he tries to get angry (and fails) with her. "I mean things which make us look like a married couple without going _too _far."

She rolls her eyes mischievously, still toying with him. "I was only joking. If you're so uptight about it why do we have to _pretend _to be a couple in the first place? Why can't we just be friends?"

Oh, Clara, don't go and say _that! _ He takes off his hat and runs his hand through his hair. "Avoids any awkward questions. Girls like you weren't really supposed to be on their own with men like me in Victorian times. Unless they were married."

"Oh." Clara's eyes widen as she turns her head round to look at the Doctor, "So we're married for _convenience? _I see."

"No!" he automatically retorts then realises, what other reason would there be behind their new false relationship? "I mean yes. If you like."

"Oh. Right." she looks slightly put off by this statement, but continues to pin back her curls in any case. "Well, I'm no Victorian, so I wouldn't know how Victorian couples acted anyway."

_Debatable._

The Doctor can feel the awkwardness just floating through the bedroom; he's offended Clara in some way and that is _never _a good sign. Especially seeing as they were _supposed _to be pretending to be married and when you're on bad terms with the person you're _supposed _to be pretending to be married to, things are a hell of a lot more difficult.

"We can just be friends, then, if that's what you want." he hastily adds to make the situation lighter, "Take the questions and the judgements. I've been travelling for over nine hundred years so I've managed to take a lot of judgements; it's just _you _I don't want to be judged."

She smiles slightly at that; he doesn't care what people think of him but what people think of _her. _She's never met anyone so considerate in her entire existence, someone so wary not of but _for _her. There's something so kind, so genuine about that, that she can't believe she was ever annoyed with him. "Fine, no, the marriage thing is okay. It's not permanent or anything is it?"

"No. Absolutely not." he replies (not sadly in the slightest because Clara Oswald is his best friend and nothing but).

"All we have to do is…" she turns away from the mirror and looks at him, and he can't help but feel happy yet heartbroken at the sight of her in her Victorian get-up.

His hearts ache momentarily for the girl he lost, but skip a beat for the girl he has. He's frowning yet he's smiling; so many confused and juxtaposing feelings leaping about within him that he can't tell which ones are the ones he's felt in the past, feeling now, or going to feel in the future.

She does that to him. Makes him feel like everything makes sense yet nothing does at all.

"…Hold hands." she suggests with a shrug. "Laugh a lot."

"Yeah." he agrees, "That sounds normal."

She bites her lip with thought. "Pay me compliments, gaze 'lovingly' into each other's eyes."

"Yes." he nods, then- "Hey, wait a minute, don't we do all this already? The holding hands, laughing, compliments thing?"

"Well." she says thoughtfully, "You could do a bit more of the compliments thing but apart from that, I suppose we do."

He scowls. How many times had he told her she was beautiful?

Oh. _Oh._

And Clara's realised too, because her eyes widen ever so slightly like she always does when she's struck down with realisation. She points at him sceptically. "What? We're not…"

"No we're not." he shakes his head firmly, but then eases when… "Are we? No. We are not a couple. A couple of people who enjoy each other's company, but not a coupley couple. A couple of people, a couple of _friends, _not a couple of… The other couple."

She hastily agrees, approaching the mattress and sliding down next to him. "I mean, loads of friends hold hands and laugh a lot. It's perfectly normal. Isn't it?"

He doesn't really know, to be honest, but even _he _assumes that a lot of friends don't hold hands very often. "Yes. Of course. Absolutely, perfectly, normal…"

It doesn't register that he's now cupping his palm round Clara's soft, rounded cheekbones; he does it so often it's not as if it's anything different, but right now it feels so much more than just a friendly gesture. A little more than friendly gesture. He loves how soft and unblemished her skin is beneath his fingertips, so pure, so innocent, so _young._

She just looks at him with chocolate-brown irises and his eyes are burning right through her; looking so deep.

It doesn't even register when he leans into hover his lips over hers and press a chaste, gentle contact against her mouth. It just feels so natural: like it's happened before yet it hasn't, not this Clara. It feels like it should happen again… So it does.

And it's the softest, most precious kiss he's ever experienced. She gently presses her hand on the side of his face, her fingers running through his mop of scruffy dark hair. Her digits glide effortlessly through the scruff as he slides his arms round her delicate frame, tugging her close.

"Well," she whispers as his lips dart for her neck, "This escalated quickly."

And he laughs, nuzzling his face into her shoulders. "Maybe being married won't be so difficult after all."


	13. The Best Places

_A/N: This prompt was given me to an anonymous viewer on tumblr. Pure fluff! I hope you enjoy, and don't forget to leave your thoughts in the review section :)_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who._

* * *

**_The Best Places_**

_In which the Doctor and Clara encounter that 'there's only one bed' scenario_

"Right, this 'ere is your room!"

The plump, matronly woman knocks open the door of what appears to be a bedroom in the Queen's Arms Inn with her elbow, beckoning both the Doctor and Clara to come inside. They give each other a sceptical look before the Doctor steps inside; unaware about what lies before them in the room it looks like they're sharing for the remainders of the night.

The woman (Edith, was she called? Enid? Something beginning with an E) rests a candle in a saucer on the bedside cabinet and gestures towards the _single _bed which lies against the wall in the very centre of the room. "Good bed, this one. Best in the 'ouse."

The Doctor sits down on the bed with a big happy grin on his face, bouncing up and down on the mattress like a little kid. "That it is! Top notch, this. Excellent quality. Will do the pair of us nicely."

Edith nods her head knowingly, stroking the thin, somewhat scratchy sheet with her hands like it were a small dog. "You're right there, Doctor. These sheets weren't cheap. Had taken lot'a money out of the Inn's account to get these, y'know…"

The Doctor laughs and taps Edith on the shoulder. "Don't you worry, me and my good friend Miss Oswald will have your money sorted out tomorrow morning. Ship-shape and ready to go! Can't not, with a room as wonderful as this, can we Clara?"

He looks over at his companion, who is standing by the door with her arms folded and a little-short-of-amused look on her face which instantly makes the Doctor feel slightly tetchy. He shrugs his shoulders at her as a gesture to encourage her to elaborate on why she isn't completely happy about this situation.

She sighs with annoyance at his complete obliviousness. "Is it just me whose noticed that there's _only one bed?!"_

Edith laughs heartily, removing herself from the position on the edge of the bed. She taps her nose knowingly, winking at the Doctor and Clara. "We're all very modern here, Doctor. Very accepting. Get up to whatever you like in here, my love, as long as you shut the door and pay your shillings in the morning."

The Doctor smiles at Edith's kind words, before he realises what she's actually saying. His smile disappears and he quickly interjects with a "No, we're not…"

"Don't have to explain yourselves to me, love." she gives Clara a grin and a rather hard shoulder clap which concludes with Clara going a little off-balance with the heftiness of the older woman. "See you in the mornin', breakfast is from six 'til nine."

Edith leaves, making sure she's shut the door securely behind her.

"What _exactly_ was she implying?" Clara ponders out loud, wandering over to the large window at the very end of the room.

She can't help but smile as she grips onto the sill, looking on at the sight of early 1900's London before her; well, at least the Doctor had told her it was the early 1900's. He'd got this information from his quick environment checks- a.k.a. pulling up a mound of grass from the nearest spot and stuffing the green mounds in his mouth before his magnificent yet lacking-in-common-sense brain could comprehend it. Clara had grimaced in disgust yet intrigue as he announced that because of these few blades that it was, in fact, London and the twentieth century due to the 'tangy taste of factories and pre-war grit'.

"I think that is one aspect of our conversation with Edith that we should not evaluate." the Doctor recommends, although he is curious as to why Edith had thought that him and Clara were, well, _y'know, _in the first place.

They'd just done what they normally do. That old holding hands/linking arms/arm round her thing. They _always _did that.

Clara sighs, before flipping round to leave the view behind her. "We could stay _anywhere. _Literally anywhere in this whole town and you decided on the tiniest, pokiest, rowdiest Inn here. Why?"

The Doctor grins and rubs his hands together. "The tiny places hold the most secrets."

Clara rolls her eyes as she perches herself onto the edge of the window sill. "Maybe I don't want secrets. Maybe I want a nice, comfy, _separate _bed and some decent food at least. That stew thing we had down there was _appalling! _I swear I had a bit of someone's shoe floating around in mine…"

He can't help but chuckle. Fair enough, he'll give her that one. Even _he _had to grimace as he swallowed god knows what in that watery gravy. "Oh, Clara, those posh places are so _boring! _It's these places that all the exciting stuff happens."

"It's _these _sort of places that my mother warned me about when I was kid," Clara points at him warningly, "Full of horrible, drunk men who want to take advantage of you. And, blimey, we're in the 1900's. The men were even more drunk then than they are…in the future?"

"Don't need to worry about that." he reassures her. He's sort of astounded that she'd think that he'd let anything happen to her in anyway. "I'll protect you."

She scoffs at the cheesiness of this statement to hide how much this actually means to her. She can't possibly say how much he appreciates this total devotion out loud, can she? Far too embarrassing.

She jumps off the window sill and walks over to nearby the _only _bed. "We still haven't discussed how we're going to get past this 'there's only one bed' scenario, have we?"

"What is there to discuss?" the Doctor pulls his legs on the bed and taps the small (yet big enough to fit the slim body of Clara Oswald on) space next to him. When she just looks at him doubtfully with an eyebrow raised he says, "What's your problem? We're friends, aren't we?"

"Of course we are!" she counters quickly, "But, it's rather small… And close."

He budges up, closer to edge. "Plenty of room."

"Okay…" she wanders over, slowly, still incredulous, before sitting on the edge of the bed and slipping off her little black boots. She awkwardly lies down in this tight space; her shoulders touching the Doctor's and their arms lying side by side.

"See?" the Doctor says, "Fine."

She nods yet can't help but thinking she'd rather be in a spacious bed with a soft fluffy duvet and a pillow that _doesn't _feel like concrete, but she decides that this is good enough for now. She doesn't mind that she's within such a close proximity of the Doctor; in fact, it's a bit of a comfort. She'd rather be by his side than alone.

He props his head up on his elbow so he can face her. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she says conclusively because of course, she is. Why wouldn't she be? "Why?"

"You're shivering," he says, his voice laced with concern, "I can feel it."

She hasn't noticed it before now but yes, she is shaking slightly and has lines of goose bumps up her arms. "It's probably because it's bloody freezing in here."

"No fire, no double glazing…" he scans the room quickly, "That's the 1900's for you."

"You see, if we'd went somewhere swanky, they _would _have a fire." Clara points out as she hugs herself in order to bite off the cold.

The Doctor's brow furrows with apprehension; he can't have her being cold while she's sleeping, that can't be good for her, so he slips off his purple jacket and wraps it tight round her shoulders in order to get some warmth into her.

"Thanks," she mumbles quietly, her eyelids flickering as she sleepily begins to doze off.

And he smiles to himself as he wraps his arm round her, pulling her close to his chest, so close that her head is nestled between his two heartbeats and her hair is spilling over onto his torso. Her hand slips from beneath her to across his ribcage and he doesn't mind, not one bit, because he likes the feeling of having someone so close to him.

It feels so alien; this closeness. He'd spent so much time alone that he'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

And, gradually, she falls asleep, and the pair of them stay in this position until the morning- and Clara decides that maybe the smaller, pokier places are the best places to stay after all.


	14. Other Ways

_A/N: Just a cheeky, quite strong T-rated oneshot set post The Crimson Horror (which, can I say, is one of my favourite dw episodes so far). Can I also say... so close to two hundred reviews. Guess what. Whoever my 200th reviewer is I'll dedicate my next oneshot to. Hope you enjoy! Whouffle love xx_

_Don't forget to review :)_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who._

* * *

**_Other Ways_**

_In which the Doctor helps Clara with a number of things._

"_Doctor!"_

The Doctor's ears prick at the sound of his name, dragging his attentions away from fixing the TARDIS parts beneath the platform of the control room and removing the goggles he has over eyes to perch on his forehead.

"_Doctor, kind of need some help here!"_

He can't help but grin and roll his eyes when its Clara's voice he hears (as if it was anyone else) - always had something or other wrong with her, either the TARDIS was tricking her up ('Hey, I definitely did _not _leave those shoes there') or he'd left the toilet seat up again ('Seriously, I thought this ship was infinite, yet I _always _end up in the bathroom that you've done your business in!').

Yet, however trivial, he always seemed to end up by her side and aid her eventually. Why was that? She definitely did not need assistance when putting the toilet seat into its original position nevertheless he went along anyway, did a thing with the seat, and endured a rollicking from her as she explained in great detail just how very annoying that action was and how he should never do it again.

So he drops the mess of wires he's pulled from the control panel and lets them dangle freely; giving his ship a friendly tap and a promise to fix it all up later when he's assisted Clara with whatever trifling issue she's after this time.

"Where are you?" he yells out as he clambers into the main part of the control room. So much easier just to shout than go looking for her, which can take hours and make her even more livid than she already is.

(He knows this from experience. He prefers not to recollect the time Clara got trapped in The Hat Emporium when an avalanche of fezzes bombarded the only exit; and he'd forgotten exactly where The Hat Emporium was at that very point in time.)

"_My room!" _she yells back in response, and he can't help but feel a little relieved because he knows exactly where her room is, no question about that.

-x-

It's not long before he's twisted round two corridors and down a ladder and he finds Clara's bedroom; the one with the blue door which she _demanded _was painted crimson so he obliged, even though he could've asked the TARDIS to make her a new room with the red door as she'd wanted.

He steps into the doorway to find Clara sitting on her bed, still dressed in her Victorian attire (they'd came home from Yorkshire a while ago now and, to be honest, he'd expected her to be back in her normal clothes by now) and her hair still in that magnificent array of curls which he liked rather a lot.

He's confused as to what's wrong with her as she looks perfectly fine on the outside; but he's known Clara long enough to realise just because her exterior looks okay it could still mean she's _fuming _on the inside.

"Ay-up love, do you need some help there, Mrs Smith?" he says in his comical Yorkshire accent which he has to admit, is rather proud of. Very convincing.

She smiles sweetly and flutters her eyelashes. "I need you to remove my clothes."

His eyes suddenly widen at her request and he's extremely taken aback- sorry, _what? Clothes? Remove? Need? _Three words he did not expect to be put together in a sentence _ever. _He didn't do that, did he? No, no definitely not… Did he?

His absolutely astounded expression makes her burst into laughter, her brown eyes dancing. He can't really understand here humour. Was it only him that heard the words _remove my clothes? _There was nothing funny about that. It was outrageous! He couldn't believe she'd ask such a thing. How very ridiculous! Very, very ridiculous…

"Not in that way, idiot!" she teases, pointing her finger with her words, "Although, that thought process _did _enter your brain, so I'm beginning to question what your intentions are there mister…"

He clamps his mouth shut and gives her that look. You know the look. The look which means _oy you shut up I am a time lord I don't do that thing thank you very much _yet also means _but I'm doing this look because you're absolutely right like always and I do not want to admit it._

"Shut up!" he says, making her giggle even more. There's just no use with Clara anymore. He's blasted all his innocence (which was incredibly precious to him) out the water as soon as she'd set foot in the TARDIS. "You were the one who said you wanted me to take off your clothes!"

"And I do," she adds as she lies back onto the bed, "Because this bustle is hell to try and remove without assistance."

And he looks at her, just for a moment, and he's sees someone else who isn't her yet is-

"_My bustle is stuck!"_

"_Your bustle?"_

And in those moments he feels so heartbroken because she _was _his Clara yet she was completely different and-

"I've got underwear on underneath, no need to look at me like that!" she gestures towards his current facial expression, which she of course still thinks is about the whole clothes scenario. He instantly snaps out of it, slapping his cheek with his hand, blowing those memories away with the dust at the back of his mind.

He shakes his head with a grin and rushes over to her side, where he tries to hide how very awkward this situation is while he's sliding his arms up her skirt to try and unclip the bustle from underneath. The bustle (which the TARDIS had created especially for Clara for easy fitting as bloody hell, neither of them could understand how an _actual _bustle worked) had so many clips and flicks in order to attach firmly to Clara's waist that it took him several minutes to detach it- him trying his best not to brush his hand on her thigh as it would knock up the awkwardness (or the sexual tension DAMN IT STOP NOW) by about a thousand kilowatts.

"Are you okay down there?" she asks before adding with a smirk, "Enjoying yourself?"

His head instantly emerges with a scowl plastered all over it. She definitely knows how to push his buttons. "I've seen space-age technology which is less complicated than this thing!"

She winks, "Whatever you say."

He gives her another look before submerging again underneath the satin and after another few screws and an 'aha!' later he's back, holding the nasty looking entrapment in his grip.

"You actually _wore _this?" the Doctor screws up his face at what looks like a cage for some sort of rabid animal. "You know, I understand many things, but I will _never _understand fashion."

Her eyebrows instantly flick up as she looks over at him. "Clearly."

_Damn it!_

Next up on the things he has to remove is the upper apart of the gown- which he knows she could probably do herself, but he still lets his long and inelegant fingers dance down the buttons positioned on the front and he opens them with ease. She flings this part onto the bed along with the rest of her skirts, until she's left with just her petticoat and her corset.

She turns around so her back is facing him; and all he can see is her bare neck and a row of ribbons which she beckons him to untie.

"As quick as you like," she says, "Because this thing is bloody tight and I'll feel more comfortable when I don't think I'm going to faint at any second."

But he's not really listening to her anymore, because he's so distracted by that beautiful, bare skin which he's definitely not usually distracted by. In fact, he's never really noticed it before, and he doesn't really know why because it's a bit _perfect._

A stray curl, escaped from her up-do, dangles across this flesh so he brushes it away and behind her ear in this swift, intimate action. And, just like that, she's silent: like she felt something or other that she can't really explain.

And before he's realising what he's doing he's stroking his middle finger down from her neck, over this smoothness, until it reaches the beginning of the corset.

"Sorry!" he coughs, quickly beginning to untie the mass of ribbons but getting them knotted up because damn he's just _so distracted _by this skin that he just _needs to-_

"It's fine," she says, before brushing his own hands away and the corset falls off, and _bloody hell she's just standing there with barely anything on. At all._

She turns around and presses her hands on his shoulders and he just looks at her, not sure whether to push her away because this is _definitely not what time lords do _or pull her in because _even time lords do this sometimes._

"Can you help me with my hair?" she asks him, and that's a question he did not completely expect her to come out with.

"Um. Yes! Yes, definitely," he babbles as he points to her chest, "But can I, uh- you seem to appear to be lacking in, uh, clothes, as of present-"

She shakes her head before kissing him; perching on the very edge of her tiptoes in order to reach his lips and brush a very chaste and quick contact with them. "Silly, there's _other ways _to help me with my hair, you know…"

And, before he knows it, a half-naked Clara Oswald has him backed onto the bed and is casually ripping his clothes off and kissing him simultaneously.

Well. That's _one way _to sort out her hair.


	15. A Little More Than Twice

_A/N: Sorry I haven't updated for a while! This oneshot contains **mild spoilers for nightmare in silver** so if you haven't seen it you might not understand. Other than that, pure fluff! Also, if you have a chance, I've written a pregnant!Clara fic called **Always **which you might want to check out if you like whouffle :)_

_Don't forget to leave a review! They almost always make me work faster :)_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who._

* * *

**_A Little More Than Twice_**

_In which the Doctor realises that he actually does fancy Clara Oswald and Clara Oswald fancies him._

He picked up Clara Oswald the next Wednesday after their last adventure as he always did, and every time he welcomed her back in she always seemed to be wearing a new dress which he tried ever so hard not to stare at her thighs in or a new hairstyle which she'd managed to twist her brunette tresses in. Although, he didn't exactly care what she looked like (although the pretty dresses were a bonus), it was just the fact that she was there with him like she always was. _The impossible girl. _

They'd decided on not going on an adventure straightaway today, instead pottering around the TARDIS doing everything and nothing at all. Clara had wanted just to relax with him for a bit; they never really got any time alone together anymore because _every single time _they went out _anywhere _they ended up almost always in trouble and running for their lives. Sometimes accompanied by a lizard woman and her wife with their psychotic pet potato. So, the TARDIS it was then.

They both sat on the long sofa in one of the TARDIS' many living rooms, the Doctor sitting on the end while Clara lay down next to him; her head resting on his lap and her waves cascading over his knees. She had a Rubik's cube in her grip, her face scrunching with confusion as she tried out the endless impossibilities in her hands in order to get the right combination of colours. He just smiled as he stared down at her absolute absorption with this object; all the while resisting the urge to say _if you just slotted that red cube round, you can solve the whole thing…_

For some reason, she got really annoyed when he said stuff like that. But that was partially because they were playing Twister the other day ("Twister! How _splendid! _Getting tangled and knotted with someone until you fall over is such good fun!") and he told her that the easiest way to put her left hand on yellow was to, uh, wrap it round his left leg… Then promptly realised about a second later that that wasn't such a good idea after all.

He outlined the outside of her hair on his leg as he watched her brain ticking away; the two of them in absolute silence apart from the small clicks from the cube and her occasional moan or sigh of disappointment as she gets further away from her goal, or a surprised giggle as one of her pieces slots into place. He loved that giggle. It was so adorable, so fascinated, so _brilliant._

"Have you ever completed one of these things?" she asked suddenly, breaking the peace.

Oh yes, he can do them pretty quickly. Unless they're broken, of course. Which is practically all the time, stupid things. "Yes! Once or twice."

She scoffed jokingly. "And now you're going to tell me the story on how you met Mr Rubik. Or _Mrs _Rubik. Miss Rubik. One of the Rubiks anyway. Was there more than one Rubik?"

"No I wasn't!" he countered, even though he was. Definitely. Seeing as really, it was his idea to create the Rubik's cube in the first place: Rubik just took all the credit. Yet, for some reason, he had a feeling that Clara wouldn't believe him.

She looked up at him sceptically. "Okay then."

She went back to trying to solve it, but it wasn't long before her voice perked up again. "I've been thinking…"

"Ooh, dangerous," the Doctor joked and Clara shot him a _watch it _look, "Don't want to be doing that, Clara."

She slapped him playfully on his thigh (with great difficulty, seeing as his thighs were exactly where her head was positioned) before going on. "About the Cybermen."

He instantly softened; that's not something he wanted Clara to be thinking about. It's something he wanted her to push out her mind and forget about: because, Cybermen, out of all their adventures… Just creatures that aren't worth remembering. He skimmed his hand through her hair and she couldn't hide the little smile that appeared on her face. "Don't, Clara."

"No, no…" she abandoned the Rubik's cube, throwing it onto the nearby coffee table with a skitter. Her mug of tea also lays forgotten on the wood; cold, by now, he expected. "I'm not scared of them, Doctor."

"I know you're not," he lied because hell, like she'd admit that she was scared of _them _things. "Just don't think about them, alright? They're not worth thinking about."

She ignored him, as always. "What are they, again?"

He rolled his eyes, squeezing the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. "They're… Metal men. _Upgraded humans. _The cyber legions kind of just use random bits of pieces of humans and shove them into a metal suit but they're not human at all. Incapable of feeling emotions because if they could feel, they would just internally implode with what they've become."

He felt her body sink at this statement, so he twisted a strand of her hair round his finger. "…Totally incapable?"

"Oh, yes," he smiled sadly, "Hope, love, loss, grief- everything. Some emotions hurt so just _obliterate them all._"

"Even… Love?" her voice went ever so slightly higher at the end of the sentence, almost catching in her throat.

"Definitely love. That's the worst one." he admitted. She looked confused at this, for some reason.

"You see, that's what's had me puzzled." she responded. She flipped over onto her stomach so her chin was resting in her arms, her arms on his lap. Her brown eyes, wide and beautiful, gazed up at him. "The Cyber Planner said…"

"I wouldn't listen to a word _he _said," he spat, but she continued anyway.

"The Cyber Planner said, to try and prove to me he was _you, _that he, y'know, _felt those feelings for me." _ she said, "But if the Cybermen are so 'incapable' of love like you said… How would he know? How would he know what _love _feels like? Unless…"

His eyes widened at this _unless _because he hates that word. He hates this trail of thought _full stop. _Mainly because _he doesn't even understand it himself. _What? How… "Unless…?"

Clara grinned cheekily, raising her eyebrow. "_Unless _he actually _did _get that from your memories. I assumed it wasn't true, but… You do fancy me, don't you?"

"No!" he retorted as his face flooded a dark shade of red, "Don't be preposterous, Clara! I definitely do _not _fancy you!"

She pouted ever so slightly, "Are you saying that before or after you kiss me, or…?"

He just looked at her, her face a picture of flirtatiousness and cheekiness as she toyed with his feelings and his emotions. To be honest, he didn't really know what to say. Or how to say it. He wasn't exactly the king of flirting.

So, he just pressed his middle finger underneath her chin, and leaned in and _kissed _her. Because he didn't really know what to do and mostly because it's something he's wanted to do for a long time; ever since they saved the world from creatures in the Wi-Fi.

She was a little startled as she didn't quite expect him to actually follow through with her demand but she reciprocated anyway because it's something she's wanted to happen too. For such a long time.

And then he let go; his hand still beneath her chin. She looked back at him, slightly breathless, almost dazed looking. He can't help but laugh. "Fine. I fancy you, Clara Oswald. Just a bit."

She blinked a few times, as if to register his words in her head. She then grinned too; and he swears he's never seen anything more beautiful. "It's fine. I actually fancy you a bit too. Sometimes twice a day."

"Only twice?" he retaliated.

"Okay then." she pulled herself onto her knees and bit her lip, gripping onto his shoulders. She leaned into his face, pressing a chaste kiss on his lips before letting her forehead collide softly with his. His eyes closed with the contact, because it's just so _perfect. _They're so close, closer than they've ever been, forehead to forehead, nose to nose, lips to lips…

She brushed her lips against his again. "Maybe a little more than twice a day."


	16. For You

_A/N: After last night's episode (which I'm still recovering from) I decided to write a name of the doctor whouffle epilogue. ***THIS CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS FOR NAME OF THE DOCTOR, SO IF YOU HAVEN'T WATCHED IT DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT SPOILERS* **Just warning you lol don't want angry whovians on my tail. Hope you enjoy!_

_Review as always, that would be lovely and they make me work faster! Don't forget to check out my other fics **A Kiss and the Odd Souffle **(an AU version of this) or **Always **(my pregnant Clara fic) :)_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who._

* * *

**_For You_**

_In which the Doctor gives Clara his heart. Because it is always and always will be hers._

"You could see River, couldn't you?"

His head shoots up from his hands, juddering slightly in shock as he realises he's not quite as alone as he thought he was in the control room. In the doorway, with a blanket draped round her shoulders like some sort of cape, is Clara Oswald; her eyes still blinking back sleep and her hair mussed up and messy.

He instantly scowls at her, rubbing his eyes with his hands. He doesn't want her to see his bitter tears. She's seen enough of them. "I told you to get some sleep."

She frowns as she tugs the blanket tighter round herself. When he doesn't answer her questions, that means the answer is just too painful or too impossible to admit to. She's seen that quite a lot with him, too often; any reference to his past, even if its just recent, he just shuts her out and clambers into this unbreakable mental cage which she just can't seem to unlock quite yet.

Maybe its because she kind of knows everything about his history anyway. Little scraps of the past all muddled up like a book with its chapters in a mismatched array of endings and beginnings align in her brain- not making sense yet are somewhat decipherable enough to pick out bits and pieces. Significant heartbreak or overjoy. The deepest moments and maybe some of the lighter ones. They still don't make sense completely, its all a bit of a blur, too much for one mind to completely comprehend; yet she knows everything anyway.

"I'm not tired," she says weakly, even though her eyes are burning and she really isn't sure if she can keep them open for much longer. "I've slept enough, Doctor."

His hands are clasped round his face, sniffing as he contorts the skin as he drags his palms down his cheek bones. She can see the silky white lines down the redness of his skin where his tears have taken their course. She can see everything- there's no use in hiding anything from her. She's seen _too much. _

"Fine," he raises his hands flippantly, "But we're not going anywhere. Not yet. Just go and have some more rest, Clara. Please."

_Please. _It's such a feeble word. A word that no-one listens to anymore because its meaning has just got so corrupted over time with meaningless and petty demands. The reason why Clara Oswald doesn't listen to please this time is because it'll hurt just as much to ignore it than to inquire further into it. "I can't."

She tiptoes over to where the Doctor is sitting, the TARDIS floor surprisingly cool against the pads of her feet and making her shiver ever so slightly. The pilots chair rocks somewhat with the added pressure of her body, but he doesn't falter or flicker with her contact. Instead, he just sits there; his eyes still full of vacancy as he looks further beyond just the contents of the control room. She doesn't like him like this.

"You could see River, couldn't you?" she interjects yet again.

It takes him a while to nod. She thinks he's not listening, he's not quite there: but he is. He _always _is. He almost chokes out this next word like its caught in his throat, not wanting to be said. "Of cour- Of course I could. How could you know?"

She smiles sadly. Sometimes she doesn't know how she knows, but she does. "The odd glance in her direction, the feeling you weren't looking at me but past me- it was pretty obvious, really."

"Ah, well," he returns the sad smile and she can see his tearducts glisten. "River is the kind of woman you can't really ignore, even if you want to."

"I gathered that," she says. The first moment she saw River, with her glass of champagne and flirtatious quirks and the hair that never seemed to end: how could he possibly ignore someone like _her? _"So why did you ignore her? I could see how desperate she was for you to say something, just _something- _something to let her know you still cared."

"She knows I care!" he spat, surprisingly viciously, making Clara start with the unfamiliarity of it. "She will _always _know I care, Clara Oswald. That's _why _I did it! Ignored her! I was saving her, and myself. She was just an echo, Clara. An echo of the woman I lost so long ago."

His head sinks into his hands and she hears a despairing sigh and his shoulders rack backwards with a sob and the only thing she knows to do is to slide her hand through his arms into his and squeeze it. She rests her head on his shoulder, kissing the blade gently because, damn it, she loves him. That's why she's done so much for him. She couldn't stand a world without him in it; even if that meant they couldn't have a proper life together and just bits and pieces of her found him every so often. She just wanted him safe. _Her Doctor._

"She could come back," Clara considers, "You said you were time travellers. Maybe there is another River out there, just waiting for you to have an adventure with. _Your wife._"

He shakes his head prominently. No. Just, no. "She needs closure. _I _need closure. Everything ends, Clara- I can't keeping chasing the woman I know is already dead. And I _don't like _endings. I don't like goodbye. I've seen too many."

That's one thing they both have in common. _Too many goodbyes. _The amount of times she's had to say goodbye to the Doctor in those many lives she's lived- it hurts. It hurts so much. And Clara, well, she _loves _the Doctor in a way she's never loved anyone else; but that can't compare to the love the Doctor has for his wife. She may have saved his life more times that she cares to count, but he can _never _love her more than the only woman he's ever told his name to. That's just impossible. "What are you going to do, then? River, she's special to you. You can't expect me to be a substitute for your _wife, _Doctor."

His head shoots up at this and, for some reason, he looks more heart broken than he's ever done before. "You think you're a _substitute?"_

Clara shrugs. To be honest, she doesn't really know what she is. "I…"

The Doctor brings his hand to her cheek and caresses the smooth skin with his thumb. This time, a tear falls, but it isn't for River or Gallifrey or Trenzalore. It's for _Clara. _"You are _not _a substitute for River, Clara. You are not a subsitute for _anyone. _You are Clara Oswald. My impossible girl."

Clara smiles and it's just so _Clara- _happy yet sad at the same time and so, so beautiful. "Really?"

He kisses her hand and places it on his chest; underneath, one of his hearts rippled softly with a steady rhythmn. She grins at the impossibility. He really does have two hearts. "This heart, Clara, will always be for River. It will always be for the people I've lost, let go, left behind, haven't met- millions and millions of stories and lives and deaths and pure _brilliance. _People who have saved me and killed me and more ways than one. But-" he moves her palm from one side of his chest to the other, where his other heart is beating. "This heart, Clara Oswald, will always be for _you."_

And she cries, a little bit, her eyes brimming with a glistening clear liquid.

"You _saved _me, Clara." the Doctor says, "I was so close to submerging into this horrible, cold isolation- but then you came along with your souffles and your mystery and _you! _You didn't just _save_ me Clara; you _made _me who I am. You made me _the Doctor. _If it wasn't for you, Trenzalore would be so much closer to home. I wouldn't have lived out so many amazing days of saving the universe- you literally _saved me in every way possible._"

He brings his lips to hers in an emotion-wraught kiss; so full of angst and relief that it shocks the two of them. Their mouths intertwine in a way that they thought wasn't possible: his teeth tugging at her bottom lip and her skin so pure and soft. His hand reaches round the back of her neck so he can feel the short, tangled hairs at the nape and grasp on to them, his fingers fumbling with the strands in a firm yet comforting way. She likes it.

Their faces are so close she can feel the dampness of his cheek where there were once those bitter tears for River Song. She maybe should feel guilty, after all they'd only said goodbye a few hours ago, maybe it was taking advantage of a hurting man; but she realises that this is what River Song would've wanted after all.

If she really loved the Doctor more than anyone in the universe, she would want the Doctor to love again. After all, what is the point if the one you love is unhappy and in a constant state of turmoil over you?

River Song wanted the Doctor to move on. And the Doctor wanted to move on too.

They pause for breath. The two of them are panting slightly, their foreheads pressed against each other. They're so close their noses are touching.

"Do you still think you're a substitute?" he asks breathlessly, his hands still gently fondling the back of her neck and gradually slipping down her top.

He feels her grin on his lips as she goes in for another quick kiss. "I suppose not."

"You are Clara Oswald. You are the impossible girl. _My _impossible girl," he tells her truthfully, because he is hers and she is his. River; well, that was a complicated relationship with more spoilers and twists and so many things that just _had to be _otherwise time would splinter- but Clara, he didn't have to worry about that anymore. They didn't have an order. They didn't have diaries, keep meeting in the wrong places- Clara Oswald's story was done. Yes, they had mysteries, she wasn't going to forget _that man _they saw at Trenzalore any time soon, _but no more secrets. They knew everything about each other. _He's never had that chance with someone before: the choice _not to hide _everything and cram it away. And really, its beautiful.

"My Clara," he closes in so his lips are right up against her ear, "And you _always _will be."


	17. Fused

_A/N: This is a little different to my usual stuff, but I hope you enjoy! Don't forget to leave a review if you want more :)_

* * *

**_Fused_**

_In which the Doctor and Clara get married. Of course, it doesn't exactly go to plan._

"Doctor, when you said _let's get married Clara yeah it'll be fun and safe and completely ordinary _this is _not _exactly what I had in mind!" Clara hisses, the strain of the rope binding hers and the Doctor's hands together burning her skin with every tiny shift. It doesn't help that the Doctor is struggling just as much as she is.

"Yeah, well, if it's any consolation, this isn't exactly what I had in mind either!" the Doctor retorts weakly. His hands are futilely trying to unknot the tight rope, desperately trying to loosen its hold over the two of them so they can make their escape, but all his attempts are useless.

She winces as another flash of heat rushes up her wrist. "You _better _have a plan. I know you don't most of the other times and that's fine, really it is. But this time, you better have a _bloody plan!"_

There's a moment of silence between the two of them; the only noise being their slight grunts of concentration and the odd grimace of pain. The Doctor doesn't quite know how to respond to her because right now, he doesn't really know what to do or how to complete it and really, he doesn't know how they're going to get out of this.

Yes, he likes Clara. More than likes her. _Loves her, _even. But for some reason he doesn't really like the idea of being _conjoined to her for all eternity. _

"Of course I have a plan. We'll get out of this without any _fusing _going on, thank you very much," he hesitates, pausing to think for a second, "Probably."

"Oh _great._" Clara taunts at his usual reply. _Probably. Most likely. I'm almost 100% sure. _"Well, you better get a move on; because I'm pretty sure I can hear the footsteps of that crazy friar and his blowtorch of impending doom. With his minions."

-x-

_Two hours earlier_

"Clara Oswald, welcome to _Omia!"_

Clara's mouth gapes open in amazement at the surroundings; it really is _beautiful. _The bright, blue blossomed trees tower hundreds of feet above their heads and flowers of yellow and pink and orange literally dance and sing amongst their shoes. The sky, alive with amazing winged creatures that she can't put her finger on, swoop down to greet them with perculiar song before rushing back into the hazy violet atmosphere. There are tiny houses, little almost cottage-like things, scattered across the forest floor covered in cornflower-blue petals which have fallen from the trees.

She really can't begin to explain just how perfect it is.

The Doctor merely laughs at her bewilderment. There aren't many things that can render Clara Oswald speechless. He leans down to the floor and picks a stray flower, one that's fallen already from the canopy: and tucks it behind her ear.

She giggles in that Clara Oswald fashion, her whole face and especially her brown eyes lighting up with happiness. It really does suit her, the blue blossom framing her rounded face. "Why, thank you."

The Doctor does a little mock bow in her direction, twirling his front arm. "Why, it's my pleasure, Clara."

She grins at him, before letting her right hand slip into his as they walk through this incredible forest. Their arms swing in unison with their footsteps. When she glances around, she sees the odd native- perculiar looking creatures with two heads and skin so grey it's almost silver. Really, it seems fitting somehow; perculiar creatures for a perculiar place.

"Why are we here, then?" she asks, because usually there's a purpose for going to places like this. Somewhere so inexplicably beautiful.

"Well…" his lips quiver ever so slightly and he looks almost embarrassed for a second. "I thought we could get married. Here. If you want. I mean, it's completely up to you, but…"

It's something they've both discussed, but she can't help but feel a little surprised by his ask. Ever since he'd said goodbye to River, well, it had painful. He wanted closure and he'd finally got it- and he loves Clara in a way he hadn't thought possible. From their experiences at Trenzalore, it hadn't taken them long to realise that they're both exactly what each of them need and they don't ever want to let each other go.

Marriage, well- it's not going to determine that. It doesn't make their relationship any less fragile or breakable. But it makes it that bit more _official._

"Oh." Clara says and she can feel the Doctor's grip tense in her hands. She'd always thought they'd have a more public wedding, not just the two of them; have her dad walk her down the aisle and maybe invite the Maitland's, and Jenny, Vastra and Strax of course. Maybe they could still have some sort of ceremony on Earth too? "Here?"

The Doctor shrugs his shoulders and blushes a pleasant shade of pink. "Yeah. We don't have to, we could go somewhere else-"

"No!" she quickly interjects. She's pretty sure that the Doctor wouldn't choose just anywhere to hold something as precious as their wedding. She smiles up at him, trying to waver away any further humiliation or any sign that this is not what she wants. "It's perfect. Really. I do want to marry you here."

His face shifts and lightens. "Really?"

She shakes her head and giggles. "Really."

-x-

"Right- if you pull forwards and I pull forwards, it might just give me enough to get the sonic screwdriver from my pocket…" the Doctor groans with strain, "I'll be able to resonate the intermolecular bonds of the rope and get us free."

She doesn't need to be asked twice to accept the Doctor's demand. She heaves forward and she grimaces through the burning ravishing her wrists. These Omian's know how to tie a rope _bloody tight. _And, for some reason, she can't see it coming undone anytime soon unless the Doctor manages to wriggle his sonic out his back pocket.

"Have you got it?" she asks, not sure whether she can take the pulsing heat much longer. The Doctor grunts in response which signals _for God's sake Clara give me a bloody chance! _"Oh, don't worry, we're in no rush. We're only going to be _biochemically conjoined to each other. _Take your time!"

"If you just shut up for a second and let me get it, we wouldn't have this issue!" he hisses at her because he knows how much pressure they're under to get loose and it's not going to happen quicker when she's panicking! His hand keeps trying to snake into his back pocket but it seems a hapless attempt; his wrists can't stretch that far and he can tell Clara isn't happy that he keeps accidentally touching her bum with his fingertips. After a few more tries, he gasps in defeat. "I'm sorry, I can't reach it. You'll have to go into my pocket."

"Me!?"

"Yes! You!" he points out- as if he could mean anyone else? "Just shift your hand into my trousers and pull it out. Simple! Then we can go. Yes?"

She just has to grimace through the double entendre. "Fine."

The Doctor's whole body heaves forward, the rope cutting deep into his flesh. She groans as her fingertips clumsily dance over his rear; her nails catching onto the cool metal of the sonic screwdriver every couple of moments but never long enough for her to establish a grip hard enough so that she can retrieve it.

Then- a click. Her finger loosely nips at the tip and she can just… "Aha!"

But…

-x-

_Ninety minutes earlier_

"So…" Clara lengthens the word with her tongue as the Doctor slings his arm round her shoulders and pulls her into him. She grins; she can smell his shirt her heads that close. "Why Omia? I know it's beautiful, really it is- but why here?"

"That's an excellent question, Clara Oswald!" the Doctor beams a smile at his, well, fiancée? "Omia is known across the universe as the most romantic planet in the, well… Universe! Couples who get married here never _ever _split up. Not one in the planet's whole history."

"What-"her brow furrows, "Actually never?"

"Actually never! That really is something incredible."

"Well," Clara smiles sheepishly, letting herself tug closer into him, "No matter where we get married that isn't going to be an issue."

A laugh catches in his throat. He tries to stop the smile from sliding off his face. It's not that they'll ever split; separate, of course it isn't. He _knows _they won't. Not in that way, in anyway. But he knows that one day she'll-

He doesn't know why getting married on the planet which is notorious for its 'infinite' relationships is going to halt or prevent that factor. At one point, it's going to happen. Hopefully not for years and years, but…

He just shifts the subject. "Anyway, Omia is a planet heavily influenced by human traditions- ever since it came part of the fifth bountiful human empire ooh, fifty thousand years ago? They marry, initiate, bury in very similar ways to the human race. You know; an exchange of vows, blessings, etcetera."

"Right…"

"It's not so different from partnerships back on Earth," he says, "Except, for some reason, they're just a bit more _permanent _here. Humans actually travel for light-years to get married here in the hope that they're relationships will be eternal. Oh, Clara, even billions of years in the future humans are still very much romanticists."

She can't help but smirk at that. She didn't even think they'd have marriage in the future, never mind the need for them to become _perpetual. _

They pass a couple of Omians, all four heads immersed in conversation, but when the pair of them stops by they abruptly finish their chat. The Doctor smiles and gives them a little wave to show they aren't a threat and Clara mimics; but they all just look straight through them. It's a little unnerving, actually. Sinister.

The Doctor gives Clara a look and they promptly walk away. He just shakes his head, eliminates the weird moment from his mind.

"It's only visitors that get married here, no natives," the Doctor mentions, "Probably down to the whole two heads thing. They pride themselves on everlasting partnerships, but even that can be difficult when you have to share a bed with a person who has two different personalities on the same body."

Clara looks back at the group of Omians. Now, they've dispersed. Gone. "Yeah, must be."

The blossom behind her ear falls to the floor.

-x-

"_Clara! Have you got it yet?" _the Doctor whispers through gritted teeth into Clara's hair.

"Why are you whispering?"

"Well," his voice remains in this deep, low growl, "You may not have noticed, but we're no longer alone."

Her head shoots up and now standing in front of her are three Omians: each armed with some sort of pistol restraint thing which Clara's sure, they won't hesitate on using if they don't comply with the Friar's plans. Speaking of which, where is the-

Then in enters the Friar. With his 'blowtorch of impending doom'.

"_Sonic!" _the Doctor hisses in Clara's ear, and Clara quickly and skilfully slips the sonic into the Doctor's palms with a flick of her fingertip. How he managed to catch it, she has no idea.

The Friar licks his green, slimy lips. "Mr and Mrs Smith," he flicks a switch on his blowtorch device, a yellow flame appearing at its tip. A yellow flame which will sear their flesh together and turn it a putrid, silver shade… "I really do wish you a long and happy marriage together. Please sit still, this final stage won't hurt a bit…"

-x-

_One hour earli__er_

A beautiful Omian lady, Henna, weaves pretty blue blossoms through Clara's hair. It's an Omian tradition; the colour blue symbolises infinity (they seemed all for infinity here) and the simple white gown which Clara's wearing represents purity, much like it does on Earth. Her hair sits on her shoulders in its natural, loose waves.

Henna demands that Clara removes her shoes (another tradition) and of course Clara doesn't question it. Her little ankle boots are kicked off and Henna lays down next to her sock-clad feet, before removing the socks and then bathing her toes and her soles in this perculiar purple water.

"Are you married, Henna?" Clara queries, as Henna scribbles patterns and illicit symbols onto her flesh with the liquid like a spell or sonnet.

Henna scoffs at Clara feels slightly insulted. "How could I be married? Do I look married?"

Clara shrugs. Rude!

"Omians don't get _fused." _Henna states like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Fused?"

"…It doesn't matter. You're finished now. Please proceed to the ceremony."

Maybe the planet was beautiful, but the people at their attitudes definitely are not.

-x-

Clara squirms, kicking out her legs in order to try and push the Omians away with force. It works for a little, but that's because she had the element of surprise before. They know they're much stronger than she is and she's easily overpowered as they clamp her forehead to the Doctor's…

"_Doctor!" _she screams, the flame coming so close to her hair as the freaky Friar approaches her with a creepy yet content smile on his face. _He's used to doing this way too often._

"Mr Smith," chides the Friar, "You really do have quite the frisky wife. Might be a bit of trouble later on when you're connected."

Clara's leg kicks out at the Friar's knee, and he yelps back in pain and the blowtorch is dropped on the floor with a clatter. It buys them time but it makes the Friar even angrier. "Oh, I'll be quite happy to get you two fused and done with. Never have I had such troublesome clients."

"Why do you have to fuse us together?" the Doctor asks pointlessly, desperately pressing the sonic against the rope. _Come on, come on, don't say you don't do rope as well as wood… _"Why can't you just let us go and forget, Friar?"

"Omia prides itself on everlasting marriages, Mr Smith," the Friar reminds him. The blowtorch is back in his grip. "I'm not going to make you and Mrs Smith the exception, good sir."

"Can't you _tell _we're not going to separate from each other? You've seen how taxing lovely Mrs Smith is already- do you think I'd even _consider _committing my life to her if I couldn't cope with that?"

Clara isn't exactly happy about this comment- taxing? Well, she'll let him slag her off this one time. He won't be so lucky next time.

"I'm sorry, Mr Smith," the Friar is blatantly anything but sorry and his demonising grin backs up that theory, "But I'm afraid I can't just leave out half the ceremony. Fusing is the final stage. You can't back out now."

The Doctor pouts. "Well. That is very unfortunate, isn't it, Mrs Smith?"

The rope slips from around their wrists. A grin snakes up her lips.

"Oh yes. Very unfortunate indeed, Mr Smith."

The Friar cackles. He really thinks he has them this time. "Restrain them. Fusion is about to begin."

The three Omian's approach, but both the Doctor and Clara abruptly rise from their chairs. The Doctor shoves one of the Omian's into the Friar and the two of them topple like dominos.

The Doctor grabs Clara's hand; but then decides against it. Catching Clara completely by surprise and with a quick '_Oh, what the hell,' _he pulls Clara's legs from beneath her and clutches her body tight in his arms- bridal style. Well, he was going to have to have _some _clichés about this anything but wedding, wasn't he?

And they run.

-x-

_Forty-five minutes earlier_

They exchange vows and wedding rings, and all that time the Doctor can't seem to drag his eyes away from just how beautiful Clara looks with the flowers threaded through her hair and the pretty white dress… They should get married more often.

He means every single word of his vows and he's sure she does to; but it's the moment where he gets to _kiss _her that he's waiting for. The Friar, a slightly overly happy and giddy guy who was very enthusiastic about marriage (so much so he wants the ceremony to go as quickly as possible) almost slurs out the blessing at a hundred miles per hour.

The Doctor slinks his hands round Clara's cheekbones and she bites her lip to hide her smile as he crashes his lips into hers in a beautiful collision of love and lust. She's on the very edge of her tiptoes in order to reach and reciprocate, but it's the most perfect kiss she's ever experienced. So sweet and firm at the same time- his hands rushing through her hair and her fingertips are digging into the back of his neck.

But the kiss is cut short. An Omian, present at the ceremony, pulls Clara's waist away from the Doctor and her hands slip away from his neck.

"Hey!" she yells as her wrists are snatched into a grip, "Get off me!"

The Doctor is also protesting at the action, but not for himself. "Get your hands _off her now!"_

The Friar claps his hands in glee. "Prep them for fusion!"

"_Fusion?" _both of them spat in unison- but it's the Doctor slaps his head mentally.

"Stupid, stupid! I'm so stupid! Fusion! _Of course!"_

"What?" queries Clara between her struggles and her kicks, trying in vain to remove the Omian from her. Her attempts deem futile. "What do you mean?"

"Clara. The Omians. Here. Look at them."

She glances around at them, but she's not really looking. She's _terrified. _"What? What about them?"

"No. Really. Look at them."

She glances round again and at first she doesn't see it, but… "Oh my god…"

The Omian's here have one head. _One head. _The ones outside had two heads.

Omians don't get married.

_Do I look married?_

The ones outside weren't Omians at all. They were…

"Clara. _They're going to fuse us together. _See, the whole everlasting thing makes sense now. I always wondered why I've never seen any Omian wedding snaps."

-x-

"I'm sorry."

The Doctor apologises to her back on the TARDIS, after an eventful run through what felt like miles of forest before reaching his spaceship. They didn't hesitate on clambering inside and hoping never to bump into the Friar ever again.

"Don't be." Clara smiles. She's stood by the control panel; still in her wedding dress. "You weren't to know."

"I know, but…" he shrugs, "We can always have another wedding. On Earth, if you want. Not sure if that one counts because we 'didn't complete the process'."

Clara shows him the wedding ring she's got round her finger, and the kiss before seemed pretty real to her. "Felt real, to me. Better than those rubbish weddings that all my friends have with a church and cake and stuff. We got aliens who tried to fuse us together! That'll _definitely _go down as one of the better weddings in history."

He laughs. Clara Oswald- yeah, she's a keeper.

"And Doctor?"

"Yeah?"

"Even though the wedding was good and fun and eventful and I did enjoy it -apart from the whole almost getting conjoined thing, of course- but, for the life of me, let _me _choose the honeymoon."

"…I think we can all safely agree on that, Mrs Smith."

"And, one more thing."

"Quite demanding, aren't you?"

"…Just shut up and kiss me, chin boy!"


	18. Geronimo

_A/N: This is incredibly angsty. After the news that Matt Smith will be leaving at Christmas (I am not okay with this and am currently having some sort of break down) I just couldn't resist. Anyway, hope you enjoy, and drop by a review. Prompts are cool :)_

* * *

**_Geronimo_**

_In which the Doctor is dying; but maybe with Clara Oswald waiting for him it's not really so bad._

He'd always assumed that death would be easier this time round. That, when the inevitable end did come, it would be somewhat simpler to get through- because he wouldn't have anyone to depend on him. _This face._ No, not after last time. No more. No more companions that he'd tear from their normal lives and corrupt and form them into something they were definitely not.

But things don't always pan out as you want them to, do they? Of course not. Life doesn't ever go down the path you want, it twists and turns and in the end, most likely takes you down the path you need.

The universe knew he needed The Legs, The Nose and The Impossible One, so the universe gave them to him. And he hasn't regretted a second- running, adventuring, laughing…

But the universe also wanted him to die, too. Leave this face behind and forgotten and gone, while some new man just takes over like the last never happened at all. He doesn't die, yet he _does._

He'd always thought dying would be less difficult this time round, especially if he didn't let anyone in close enough to get know him. _This face_. Then he could regenerate and leave and nobody would care because this face- well, it meant nothing to no-one. But then- _Clara Oswald._

He crashes to his knees as his whole chest aches- and he's not sure whether it's the pain of his wound or his hearts breaking.

He opts for the latter when he sees Clara standing in front of him. She looks so helpless, a solitary tear lining her cheek and dribbling hopelessly down to her collarbone. She looks so weak, weaker than him.

"Clara," he whispers, so quietly that he can't even hear it himself. The pain is engulfing his entire existence and he feels as if every cell in his body is imploding and shattering. He can feel himself changing and rewriting. "Clara, _please."_

The weak and futile cry from the man she's known as the strongest she's ever come across almost shatters this illusion she has of him. He's not strong. He's not invincible. He's just a man, just as terrified of death as the next one. It doesn't matter that he'll come out the other side because _he won't._ Not really._ Not her Doctor._

And she knows that as she's seen it before- so many times. But those Doctors; they weren't hers and they never will be. This is _her_ Doctor. The one she can't and won't let go of. The one she'll always see when she falls asleep at night, the one that skips through her dreams and scares away her nightmares with his bowtie and his chin. Even when he's gone, when _she's _gone- he'll be the one who she comes to.

"I can't-" she shakes her head and closes her eyes as she bites back more tears. "What? I can't-"

He laughs, in spite of himself. He clenched onto the ground in order to maybe, ride off some of the agony. It's not working. Nothing works. "Shhh. Its okay, Clara. I'm-" he grimaced, a gasp of pain escaping his lips, "Fine. I will be… I will be fine."

"But you won't!" Clara retaliates, crouching down to her knees. The ground is dirty and wet beneath her but as if she cares about that. "You won't be fine. You won't… Be _you. _You'll be… You won't be _you_!"

"I will be me. Same Doctor. Same…" He gulps as he looks up at Clara. It could be his last time looking at her through this body, this mind-set and oh it makes it hurt that bit more. It's as if now he's seeing her for the first time yet alone the last- _his Clara._ "Feelings towards you."

"Feelings?" she exhales. It's starting- there's a golden dust scattering from his fingertips into the air. He lines his finger down her cheek, evaporating a scar she's developed on her flesh. Regeneration, well it can heal physical wounds. Clara knows that. But she doesn't care about the physical ones- they'll always seal eventually. It's the mental ones that throb. It's the mental ones that won't close up and be forgotten. It's the mental ones that the Doctor can't just trace with his finger and be done with.

Why is that? _Because that would be too easy. _

"You, Clara, are not the first face this one saw, but one of the first I saw altogether," he says quietly, "It wasn't you but an echo; but it was still you. And now, now I've got-"

He sobs and she doesn't care how dangerous it is, to hold a man when he's regenerating, but she grips his body in hers while her tears dance on his cheeks. Surely, when a man's regenerating, that the time they should be held the most? "Please don't leave me, Doctor. Please, just- I don't know! Just do _something!"_

"I won't leave you Clara. Not ever. I won't ever leave you. My Impossible Girl, I- love you, Clara. And I wanted so much more time to love you back as me, this Doctor, but of course the universe couldn't let that happen."

"Doctor, please…" she kisses his forehead as another bout of agony convulses through him. She's shaking, too, her whole body trembling. She doesn't want to lose him, not yet. She's known him for such a short time yet it's the happiest time she's ever known- but too short a time just to let go like this. She _can't-_

"Just remember me, Clara. Remember this face. Remember number eleven as the one who loved you back, the one who loved you first. This other guy, he won't know you like I do. He wasn't the first- so will you remember that, for me?"

"Of course I will," she claims. As if she ever wouldn't. "You remembered me, didn't you?"

"Nobody could forget you, Clara Oswald. Now, you have to step away from me, because I can feel-"

She jumps back abruptly as the golden dust begins to leak from his cheekbones. He gradually, slowly, staggers to his feet like the weight of his regeneration is pulling him down. Like the weight of the whole _world _is pulling him down.

"Now you know what happens next, Clara, so just stand back." He commands, "I'm changing, I can't hold it back any longer. I'm so, so sorry, Clara-"

"Don't be sorry," she nods, smiling ever so slightly even though she's anything but happy. "Don't _ever _be sorry."

"Goodbye Clara," he grins, "You were brilliant and impossible and _exactly_ what I needed. You came to me, when things were looking so dire, and _changed _me into this man that's grown to love the universe so much more. You gave me so many second chances, the chance to love when I thought it was impossible. So thank you, Clara."

The goodbye catches in her throat. She's got so much left to say but her heart is already breaking and his is well beyond broken. She doesn't want to watch him die; but she knows she has to be with him. She's saved him so many times before and this one time he can't be saved, not properly- but maybe just her presence in this soul-destroying time is rescuing him just a little bit. He can't possibly die on his own.

"I'll be here," she adds, shouting so he can hear her over the top of this rewrite, "When it's over, I'll be waiting for you. I'm not going anywhere."

And, for the last time, he looks over to her. Even when he's gone and dead and this new man takes his place, Clara Oswald will be with him. Maybe death doesn't looks so bad after all- not if Clara Oswald will be there.

"Well then," he whispers to himself through the tears, grinning at the same time.

_Geronimo._


	19. She's Yours

_A/N: From a prompt on tumblr! Hope you enjoy, would love to get up to 300 reviews on this chapter (wow)!_

* * *

**_She's Yours_**

_In which not a particulary nice boyfriend from Clara's past shows up for a visit._

It's a Wednesday, and like every other Wednesday for a considerable number of weeks now Clara Oswald has welcomed the Doctor into the Maitland's home in order to whisk her away on another of their adventures. They're in her bedroom, just for the moment- Clara aimlessly trying to pack the odd thing for wherever they're going next while the Doctor babbles off a hundred different places at about a hundred miles an hour. She hardly picks up a word.

"The Seven Suns of Pahalamoosh!" he says ecstatically, leaping back onto Clara's bed with the sheer excitement of it. There's an unnerving crack as the bed groans with his sudden weight- he grins awkwardly yet still persists on bouncing in the centre of the mattress.

Clara rolls her eyes, propping her hands on her hips. "Pahala-what now?

"Pahalamoosh!" he repeats, his grin just as bright and his eyes dancing just as much as he said it the first time. "Seven golden orbs just hang in the sky for thirty-six hours straight, before all setting simultaneously and leaving the sky a deep, mossy green. It's really unlike anything, Clara. You'll love it."

Clara reaches under her bed for her overnight bag. The Doctor looks down at her as she does this. "Hmm… Seven suns? I don't know. I burn _really_ easily."

The Doctor frowns, feeling the pockets of his jackets and padding them out as if he was looking for something. His hand wriggles inside his right pocket, and a smile flashes across his face as he drops a small blue bottle into Clara's bag. "Factor 1000 sun-cream. Recommended for fair skin for six to eight suns. Never leave without it."

Clara nods, pulling a couple of dresses and a pair of shorts out from her wardrobe. "Pahalamoosh it is, then."

The Doctor beams- another brilliant adventure in store for him and his brilliant Clara. He's about to say something, about the local cultures of Pahalamoosh, but there's a ringing noise from downstairs which he knows is the Maitland's doorbell.

"Expecting visitors?" he ponders curiously. Mr Maitland was out to pick up Artie from one of his friend's houses, leaving Angie inside with them until he returned- but he had a key. Could just be a canvasser, he supposes. Or the milkman.

Clara's brow furrows as she drops a pair of flip-flops into the case. "No, I don't think so…"

She pads out into the hallway and through the door the Doctor can see her leaning over the bannister. "Angie, can you get that? It's probably one of your mates."

Angie's characteristic annoyed sigh carries up the stairs. "Fine, Clara. It's not your job to answer the door or anything."

"Actually, Angie, it… Never mind." Clara shakes her head as she wanders back into the bedroom. She throws a few more belongings into the suitcase with a bit more vigour before zipping it back up. "We just need to wait for Artie to come back and then we can go."

The Doctor claps his hands together. "Great! Anytime you…"

"_Clara!"_

Clara drops the bag, a little bit more annoyed now. "What is it, Angie?"

"_Your boyfriend's here!"_

"My what?" Clara yells back, but there's no reply from downstairs.

The Doctor instantly rises up from the mattress so that he's in a more upright position. He tries his best not to look concerned or interested; because the fact that Clara might have an intimate other does not matter to him at all. She spends a whole week without him- of course there had to be someone else. She's young and she's pretty. He can't be… "I didn't know you had a boyfriend."

Clara's nose crinkles as she rises from her position on the floor. "Neither did I. Wait here- I'll just go and see who it is. It's probably just Angie being an idiot."

Of course, he's far too curious to just let her go and not witness the conversation; so he goes and sneakily stands in the hallway and overview the conversation. Just, y'know, for extra security. This guy could be an alien and he might need to step in and save her at last minute. He wasn't at all interested about what he looked like or anything. Nope, he was just keeping an eye out for suspicious activity.

"Andy!" Clara says, but it's not exactly a voice filled with enthusiasm. It's the kind of voice that reminds of him when they first met, here- sort of not entirely thrilled about the presence at the other side of the door, but not quite ready to shut it off either. "What are you doing here?"

He hears a short laugh of the male kind. Andy? Who? "Amber told me you were still living here for the time being and I was in town so… I thought I'd pay you a visit. How many months has it been? Seven?"

"Eight," she leans in the doorway, "Eight months."

Was Andy an _ex? _The Doctor can feel his palms go a little sweaty. He and ex-boyfriends or boyfriends in general didn't seem to mix at _all. _For some reason they all took a dislike to him, even if the relationship was done and over. He tends to not get involved with them anymore- way too much effort and trouble. Yet, he can't seem to escape from them…

"Eight months? That long? Wow. Well… Are you busy? Do you want to go grab a coffee or something, catch up?"

Clara sighs and looks down at her feet. The Doctor can already tell that this is one relationship that hadn't ended well. "Is this really a good idea, Andy?"

There's a pause. "It's been eight months, Clara. Surely that's enough time to level the waters between us? We used to be such good friends. I miss us."

It's almost as if he can see Clara physically soften in front of his eyes. He's always seen Clara as someone with a witty, rock-hard exterior which doesn't break down for anything- but, Andy, he's making her crumble. His strong, beautiful Clara is weakening right in front of him, but for a _boy. _"We were good friends before you messed me around, _eight months ago. _I got over us months ago, Andy. Please, this isn't very convenient-"

She's about to shut the door, but a foot comes in between the latch. "Please, Clara. Ten minutes. I kind of just… Well, while I'm in town, I kind of just wanted to apologise to you. But, really, if you want me to go…"

She hesitates. She sighs, pulling open the door. "Fine. Ten minutes, but no more. I've got somewhere I need to be."

Now, this confuses the Doctor. Did Clara Oswald just cave into someone? Things must be dire.

"Fine! Ten minutes, that's great. Thanks."

The Doctor's head peers secretly over the top of the bannister, trying to get a peek of Andy as sneakily as possible without getting caught. A blonde boy, aged probably around Clara's age, walks into the hall not far behind Clara. He's substantially taller than her, which isn't that hard to achieve, as well as big blue eyes and sharp cheekbones. He's not sure what he was expecting of an ex of Clara's, to be honest. He never thought that she'd have a particular type.

He's handsome. Is he handsome? Well if he's handsome… He's not like the Doctor at all. All blonde and muscly with a polo-shirt. Is that the sort of guy Clara went for? All Armani aftershave and _chinos? _

Not that the Doctor was planning on being the sort of guy that Clara went after, of course. Nope, they were just friends. It was just… Interesting. _No! Not interesting! You are not interested!_

He slaps himself on the cheek. He doesn't even know what feelings are floating around inside of him, but they make him feel all restless and fidgety… He feels he has no choice but to follow them into the kitchen. For security reasons, of course.

Andy's sitting at the kitchen table, while Clara is filling up the kettle. The pair of them turn to face him as soon as he walks in, like he's just walked into them on the toilet or… You get the idea. He smiles awkwardly, giving Andy a little wave as he does so. "Hello! Not interrupting, am I?"

Andy looks the Doctor up and down with disdain. He can see the boy judging his exterior- the scruffy hairdo, the bowtie and jacket.

"Um, Doctor, this is Andy." Clara quickly introduces the two of them, Andy tipping his head. It's so snooty and rude, like he can't give the Doctor the time of day. What is Clara doing with a person like _that? _"Andy's a… Old friend. We met at school."

"Hello Andy!" the Doctor says politely, but Andy does not reciprocate.

"Clara is this… Guy your boyfriend?" Andy asks straightaway, as if it's the most important question that needs to be asked.

Clara replies with a 'no' at the same time the Doctor replies with 'yes!'

Clara shoots him a look and so does Andy.

"Well, what I mean is, I'm her friend. And I'm also a boy," the Doctor laughs the embarrassment off, leaning to fiddle with his bowtie. "Not strictly a boyfriend as such."

Andy raises his eyebrows haughtily. Oh, the Doctor doesn't hate many people, but this guy is definitely a little Dalek. "Right."

Clara laughs, shaking her head as she pops two teabags into the mugs. "We travel together. Go see places. We have a lot of fun."

Andy's face falls. "We were going to travel together, weren't we?"

"Yeah, well," Clara pours the boiling water into the mugs, "Plans change, don't they?"

Andy shrugs. "Maybe plans can change back again."

A hot flash judders down his spine. Andy is a complete and total idiot who after _eight whole months _from what it sounds like since they split, still considers the fact that Clara will still come back to him. She'd _never _do that, the Clara he knew. She was stubborn and set in her opinions. She didn't just change them.

To his surprise, Clara doesn't say anything. She couldn't possibly be thinking… Not that it mattered. She could go back to Andy if she wanted. It wasn't his duty to manage her personal relationships, yet a little part of him felt as if his hearts were aching just slightly.

Maybe… Maybe time and space just wasn't enough for the enigma that was Clara Oswald.

"Now, Doctor whatever your name was, can you leave us for a bit?" Andy projects a big false grin at him, "Thanks."

He looks over to Clara with reluctance in his eyes because he doesn't want to leave her on her own with Andy. It's not as if he feels like he's dangerous or anything, but he just doesn't want her to make any rash decisions. Clara's not Clara around Andy. Not the one he knows- possibly the one Andy knows, but it _shouldn't _be. He shouldn't make her close up like this.

Clara doesn't ask him to stay. She just gestures towards the door leaving Andy with a smug grin on his horrible little face which is becoming less and less handsome by the second. The Doctor frowns, turning his back and closing the door.

Why does he feel sort of cold inside? It was like Andy was _controlling _what Clara was thinking. A human manifest of something nasty? Nah, just a class A imbecile who Clara couldn't seem to see through. The hold he had over her- it was unnatural. The way she just fell for him even though they'd obviously broken up for a reason…

_Don't get involved! Clara isn't yours and you aren't hers. Stop being so… Jealous!_

He's not jealous, is he? No. He can't be. He doesn't think of Clara like that. Does he?

"Don't even bother being jealous of that jerk," comes a voice, snapping him out of his trance. It's Angie, sitting at the coffee table doing some sort of homework. He looks down at her, and she rolls her eyes. "He broke her heart."

The Doctor blinks. He steps forwards into the doorway, folding his arms. "He _what?"_

Angie sighs, dropping her pencil and turning to face him. "He broke her heart. Clara walked in on him and her best friend Amber-something-or-other doing the you-know-what at a party or whatever."

And he swears, he's never felt his hearts fall so hard. "He… Cheated on her?"

"Yep," Angie pops the 'p', "They were together for almost six years or something. Since they were teenagers. Clara was devastated, caught her crying a few times. Didn't make a big fuss of it. Andy meant loads to her- he was round here all the time. She still doesn't know how long Andy and Amber were at it behind her back. Only got over it a few months back."

The Doctor sits down. The news hits him like a slap in the face- who would _forsake _Clara for someone else? Why, when you had someone like her… Would you do that?

Angie hesitates, like she's said too much. "But the funny thing is… She's been so much happier recently. She was never this happy with Andy. He used to say stuff to her all the time that made her really upset but she still went back to him. Why do people do that? If someone was ever that mean to me, I'd just tell them to shut up."

The Doctor raises an eyebrow. "Seems logical, doesn't it? But sometimes some people aren't so easy to say no to."

Angie agrees, although she doesn't admit it. She picks up her pencil again in order to avoid eye contact. "Don't let her go back to him, Doctor. She's way too good for him. I don't want her to be sad again. And _please _don't tell her I told you that."

The Doctor chuckles, despite the situation. "But, Angie, how do I tell her? She seems so, I don't know, _enthralled _by him…"

"Tell her that you love her." Angie states simply. "If it comes from you, she'll believe it."

"But! But I, no, I _can't…"_

"Don't even _try _and deny it. It's blatantly obvious that you fancy the pants off each other and all that's missing is some face-pressing and some of that gooey, gushy lovey stuff in between. So go in and say it, idiot. Andy never would."

That's enough for him to leap out the chair and burst into the kitchen. Not much has changed apart from the fact that Andy has leant ever so slightly closer in…

"Clara!" he announces, grinning, "I have something to say!"

Andy rolls his eyes, cursing at the impromptu entrance. Clara sighs. "Doctor, we're kind of busy…"

"I love you!" he blurts out.

Clara's eyes widen and Andy almost falls of his chair, saying "You _what?" _in unison.

He runs forwards to face Clara, pushing Andy out the way as he goes (just for a bit of fun.) "I love you, Clara!"

Clara laughs nervously. "Sorry?"

"Yeah, pal, what do you think you're doing?" Andy's voice comes from behind.

"And the thing is… I think I've always loved you. From the day we met I've just loved _everything _about you. I appreciate every single thing about you and I always will, unlike our mate Andy here."

"Are you going to let this idiot talk about me like that?" Andy practically roars at Clara, making her shrink back. "What are you even doing with him?"

"Don't you _dare _shout at her like that!" the Doctor protests, "You don't _love _her, Andy. You enjoy _hurting _her. Your relationship is over and you're just looking for an easy target to rekindle with. Well, guess what? It's not working anymore, mate. You can't take over her anymore with the occasional flattery. Because Clara Oswald has a one-up over you now from when you broke up- _me. _Now, I kindly suggest you leave, before I have to formally escort you off the premises. Do you understand?"

There's a harsh, tense atmosphere as Andy's lip trembles with anger. He swoops off his chair. "Yeah, well, mate- she's _yours. _I can have any girl I want now, I gather you probably can't. So you take Clara Oswald, I don't even care."

And with that, Andy storms out. They never see him again.

Clara's trembling ever so slightly, and all she can seem to bring herself to do is wrap her arms tight round the Doctor's neck and possibly never let go.

And she leans on the verge of her tiptoes and plants a precious, gentle kiss on his lips. "I love you too."


	20. Magic Tricks

_A/N: Hello! Sorry I haven't posted for a while. I've had so much on at school recently. Anyhow, here is a chapter, which I'm quite proud of so I hope you enjoy! _

_Reviews would be top notch :D_

* * *

**_Magic Tricks_**

_In which its Artie's birthday and the Doctor is the magician: and Clara is his glamorous asisstant_

_**E**__**arlier**_

"_Hello?" _Clara hears the Doctor's voice, questioningly, on the other end of the phone. It's full of enthusiasm, as usual. She couldn't expect anything less.

"Hi, Doctor," Clara replies, "It's me."

"_Well I know it's you, Clara. Obviously," _there's some background noise. A twist of a lever, a push of a button. The only man she's ever known who can legitimately multi-task (well, she hopes he can- she has a feeling it could be a bluff). _"What can I do for you? Are you in trouble? Are you still up for today? I'll be around in a minute, or now, if you want?"_

"Woah, hold up on the 20Q!" she laughs, as she flicks a glance in the mirror at her reflection. _Not too bad today, Clara. _"No I'm fine. Great. It's just…" she hates to put a dampener on his eagerness, but when reality calls time and space has to wait… "Can we go out next week instead?"

"_Oh._" It's like she can hear him drop, like her words are a bucket of water that's just soaked his enthusiasm. Guilt knots inside of her even though she really hasn't got anything to be guilty for, as such. "_That's fine. Next Wednesday. Okay. I'll just… Is it me? Did I do something…"_

She has to smother her laughter. He's _insecure? _It's kind of endearing really that she thinks it's his fault that she may have other offers on a Wednesday. "No! It's nothing personal, no. George –well, Mr Maitland- is on a course or something and I've been asked to manage Artie's birthday party because he can't make it."

"_It's Artie's birthday?"_

"Yeah," Clara scrunches up her nose, "Sure I've mentioned it. Anyway, George was going to do the party but as he's away on this work course I said I'd step in. Couldn't let Artie down. You can pick me up tomorrow instead, if you like. Just not today."

There's a pause. For a moment, she thinks he's hung up, but she hears him inhale a breath. "_Can I come?"_

Her brow furrows. "You want to come? Seriously?"

"_Yeah!" _ she can hear him grin. _"I love parties! Especially kids parties. You know, at adult parties, you don't have half as much fun as you do at a kid's party. I mean, what happens to the cake shaped like a pirate ship and those really cool bag things you get at the end and the bouncy castle?" _a beat. _"Is there a bouncy castle?"_

She scoffs. "Doctor, Artie is turning _eleven. _You don't have bouncy castles when you're _eleven. _He wanted a magician so I phoned one up from the yellow pages."

"_A magician… Well, that's almost as good as a bouncy castle, I suppose. As long as it isn't an alien. Then that wouldn't be good."_

Clara stops fiddling with the lipstick cap on her dressing table. In her reflection, she can see her eyes widening. "Wait… That won't happen, will it? The magician? No..."

"_I shouldn't think so. But maybe I should come along, just in case. An extra pair of hands in the unlikely circumstance that the magician may be a Slitheen in disguise."_

She rolls her eyes with a sigh. For some reason, she could see this coming- the Doctor edging himself an invite backed up with reason, of course. She was probably going to end up inviting him anyway. Artie worshipped the Doctor in every way possible and described him countless times and his adventures to his friends at school. "Fine. You can come. Don't fancy being the only one in control of twenty or so eleven year olds anyway."

"_Great! Haven't been to a party in ages. We'll have to sneak into one sometime." _she hears him pull back a lever, a whirring noise making its way down the receiver. "_I'll be around in two shakes of a lambs tail. However long that is. Can't be very long, if it's a lamb, can it? Lamb's have very small… I'll just go and get Artie a present."_

She chuckles at his ramblings. "Fine. Good. But don't get him anything like, spacey-wacey. A normal present. I don't want him going and blowing up his school or turning Angie blue or something."

"…_Spacey-wacey?"_

"Yeah," she frowns, a flicker of a grin threatening to pull up her upper lip, "Something right for a 21st century boy."

"_Fine. Not spacey-wacey," _he laughs and she smiles because, that laugh, how can you not? _"See you in a bit, Clara."_

"Alright then. Bye."

She hangs up, pressing down the red button on the handset before pressing it back into its cradle. It's then that it really dawns on her- she's asked the _biggest kid in the universe _to help her manage a children's party? How is that going to go well at all…

-x-

_**Now**_

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY ARTIE!"

The Doctor announces this at the front door with a beam on his face, almost blowing Artie away with his enthusiasm. In his grip is a big box, wrapped in metallic blue wrapping paper tied up with a bright red ribbon.

Artie's mouth is an 'o' of surprise. "Doctor! I didn't know you were coming to my special birthday party. I did ask Clara to invite you, but she said you'd probably be busy."

There's something quite endearing about Artie Maitland- the Doctor was more used to being thrown out of birthday parties, rather than being invited to them. He ruffles the youngster's hair. "Plans change! The moment Clara mentioned it was your birthday I knew I couldn't miss out on it. Couldn't turn down an invite to the best party of the year!"

Artie's mouth gradually turns into one of the biggest grins he's ever seen. Approval from his biggest role model? He couldn't have asked for a better birthday present, although the package in his grip looks appealing also… He doesn't want to be rude, but he gestures towards the parcel with his right hand. "If you don't mind me asking… Is that for me?"

"Of course it is!" the Doctor announces eagerly, pushing the big box into his grip so vigorously that Artie tilts backwards. "Between you and me, I was going to get you some fifty-eighth century practical joke kits, but Clara said something about not turning Angie blue so I got you something better instead."

Artie's eyes widen with excitement at the prospect of the package. "Cool! Thank you!"

The Doctor claps Artie on the shoulder. "You're welcome. Now, while you open that, can you tell me where Clara is?"

He's so distracted by the parcel that he doesn't even look up at the question. "She's in the kitchen."

He leaves Artie, who has just entered the front living room, to wander nearer the back of the house where the kitchen is. In the corner of his eye he can see a table laden with food- sausage rolls, little sandwiches, mini muffins. Then, of course, a spectacular looking chocolate cake with eleven candles; which is obviously bought from the supermarket as, knowing from some of Clara's culinary attempts, she couldn't possibly make a cake quite like that.

"Clara! I'm here-" he ends his sentence abruptly when he sees Clara in the kitchen- standing with her back against the table and her thumb nail between her teeth. She looks up at him, and her eyes look troubled. "What's wrong?"

"Magician just rang up. Guess what?" Clara raises her arms, slapping them down at her sides. "He's had to cancel. Some double-booking or other. How am I supposed to get another magician in…" she looks at her watch, "Half an hour?"

She rubs her face with her hand and for a moment, the Doctor's hearts break a little. All Clara wants is to put on a good party for Artie, what _he _wants, but of course sometimes plans don't work out. Unless…

"I could do it!" he exclaims, partly because he doesn't want to let Artie down, but partly because he wants to impress Clara… Which he's not going to say out loud, of course.

She looks incredibly sceptical, her right eyebrow raised and her mouth edging into smirk territory. "Seriously? You?"

He's offended that she thinks he's incapable. "Yes me! I'm an _outstanding _magician! Okay, haven't done a party before but…" he pats the pockets of his jacket, "I'm sure I could conjure something up. Conjure! Get it? I'm a conjuror, conjuring… Never mind."

There's a pause. Clara studies the man in front of her, then weighs out the other options- and there doesn't look to be any other options. She can't let Artie down, not when he's been through so much over the past year; only the second year without his mother organising the party. She sees his massive smile and his willingness and the knowledge she won't be able to get anyone professional at this short a notice.

"Okay then. Fine," she points her finger at him, "But if you do anything, like attempt to saw one of Artie's friends in half, I'll have to interfere."

"You won't need to interfere," he says ominously, "As _you _are going to be my glamorous assistant."

And he gives her a grin and turns on his heels before she can even counter. Magic tricks? The Doctor? _Her? _That didn't sound the safest of plans.

"Ooh, you're going to be his _glamorous assistant!" _a voice says from behind her, making Clara start. It's Angie- sitting at the kitchen table, eavesdropping, without either the Doctor or Clara even noticing she was there to begin with. "We all know what _that _means."

Clara rolls her eyes at her charge. Angie could be insufferable at times; making fun of Artie, being moody, being downright _annoying- _but those traits seemed to come hand-in-hand with being a teenager. "Enlighten me. What does it mean?"

Angie looks at Clara with an _isn't-it-obvious _look on her face. She stands up from the table, tidying away her papers as she does so. "Don't tell me you can't see it, Clara. It's _dazzlingly _obvious."

Now, she's confused. Her eyebrows furrow into an arch, Angie sighing- she knows that expression. "See what?"

"You're both so stupid. And blind." Angie mutters, "You're in _love _with each other and you can't even see it."

"Yeah, but…" Clara suddenly pauses, not sure if she's heard correctly. Angie? What? "Sorry?"

"Either you let him down gently," Angie suggests, walking towards the door with arms full of books and paper. She leans in the doorway, with the posture and aura of a girl who is a lot older than fourteen. "Or you just tell him you want him to take you out to some swanky party thirty million light years away and kiss you senseless in the back room."

Clara lurches, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Angie, not that its unusual, has rendered her semi-speechless. "Angie!"

Angie shrugs like its point-blank. "But if you keep on skipping round like idiots and not get down to the gushy stuff, I may have to interfere. Not that I really care, obviously… But still. It's more annoying than anything else."

Clara tries to come out with some unbelievably sassy remark to counteract Angie's statement, but for some reason her minds gone blank and she can't seem to eject a reply- which only, in Angie's mind, confirms her assumption. She's digging herself into an even deeper oblivion.

"Laters!" Angie laughs, her mess of black hair tossing behind her as she exits the kitchen and traipses up the stairs.

Clara pauses for a moment. The Doctor? Her? _No… _Right?

-x-

What is it with eleven year olds and their admiration for the Doctor? All Clara can see is a daft man with a bow tie and a stupid haircut and an idiotic (yet infectious) grin on his face. There's nothing particularly outstanding or special about him, not here- if they'd seen him on one of their adventures, battling it out, tears streaming down his face; maybe they'd see him as a hero. But here? All he's doing is pulling an outrageous amount of handkerchiefs from his pockets and occasionally plucking a pound coin from behind one of Artie's friend's ear. Okay, producing a fish bowl from supposedly nowhere and blowing a fish out from his palm was pretty impressive, but the kids are absolutely _enthralled _by him and his outrageous stories; their mouths and eyes wide as he tells them of 'planets' and 'spaceships'. She's not sure whether they believe him or not- maybe, they'd make out they thought it was all fake, but something inside of them believed every single word.

"Now for my next trick, I'm going to have to call in my glamorous assistant," the Doctor says, leaning in so he's more on-par with the children sat on the carpet in front of him, Artie at the head of the group. "She's called Clara and I can tell you now, she is indeed very glamorous. Clara!"

The heads turn to face the door, and there's a chorus of _wows _as Clara enters, albeit a little sheepishly, clothed in a short collared red dress with a belt round the middle; her hair tangled in a messy knot round the back with three scarlet feathers tied into it.

"Hello!" she waves gingerly, stepping over to get to the front where the Doctor takes her hand. He just sort of looks at her for a few seconds, not sure how to form the words.

So he spins her around as she giggles. "Isn't she glamorous?"

Artie nodded vigorously, his friends not far behind. The boys are captivated by what they'd only seen as Artie's nanny, and the girls grinning and whispering about how pretty her hair or her dress or even her _face _was. The Doctor would just let his eyes observe her for a moment longer, but he was interrupted by a snigger-come-cough emitted from Angie in the doorway. She refused to totally get involved with the party ("Magicians are stupid. Magic isn't even real!") but she was always there, observing.

The Doctor coughs, reaching deep into his pockets. He brings out a pair of handcuffs, and a ripple of 'oohs' cascades across the living room. This instantly makes Clara feel the tiniest bit weary. "For my last trick, I'm going to use these cuffs to attach myself to Clara here. And with the use of only my magic wand and no key whatsoever, I'm going to _magic _us apart."

He opens the cuff and slots his wrist inside it, popping it closed. Clara sceptically hands him her own wrist, whispering "You do know what you're doing, don't you?"

"Of course!" he whispers back, moving closer to her ear, "I'll use the sonic to undo them. Easy-peasy lemon squeezy. They'll be none the wiser and pretty amazed, if I do say so myself."

"Ooh," Clara mocks, "You're quite the sneaky one."

"Aren't I just?" he grins.

The cuffs clink round Clara's wrist so that they're bonded. He clearly shows this to the children, encouraging Artie to come forwards and test it.

Artie eagerly rises from his position on the floor and tugs onto the metal. "Definitely locked. No doubt about it."

The Doctor nods in confirmation as Artie sits back down. "What about you, Angie? Why don't you have a check?"

Strangely enough, Angie heads down to the front without complain- although there's something a bit suspicious about her smirk. She tugs onto the handcuffs, checking they're tight, and the Doctor's about to go on with the trick but Angie dives into his pocket first and grabs the sonic screwdriver before he can get it.

The Doctor and Clara glare at Angie. "Angie. Give that back."

"No." Angie says simply, folding her arms. "Not until _you _ask _her _out on a proper date."

"A date?!" Clara and the Doctor squeal in unison, just looking at each other. "_What?"_

"Oh for _God's _sake!" Angie rolls her eyes, "You fancy the pants off her! And Clara, don't even try to deny that you find him brilliant and handsome and funny. So what's it to be?"

Artie stands up behind her. "What's happening, Angie? Why aren't you doing the trick?"

"Just uh… Some slight technical difficulties," the Doctor jabbers. "Should be right as rain in a minute."

"Food in the kitchen!" Clara grins, and as she suspects, the kids are no longer interested in the failing magic trick but rather the large selection of cakes in the kitchen.

When they're gone, Clara turns back and hisses at Angie. "You're spoiling your brother's party!"

"He'll get over it," Angie says nonchalantly. "Now, I'll be keeping your 'magic wand' until you've made a decision. Until then, looks like you're chained together."

-x-

_**Later**_

"You didn't _actually _have to take me out," Clara says, "You could've just said yes to shut Angie up and gone back to the TARDIS."

They're sat in one of Chiswick's more swankier restaurants, the Doctor in a suit and Clara in an even more glamorous dress. Her hair, its long and flowing down her back in its natural loose waves, a few plaits effortlessly swept through it. Eyeliner flicks at the corner of her eyelids and a pale pink lipstick coats her lips. Despite her saying that this outing was not compulsory, she's still made an effort (not that she needs to.)

The Doctor leans back in his chair and presses his fingers together on his chest. "Maybe I _wanted_ to take you out."

Her eyes flicker up from the menu she's reading. A smirk tugs at her lips. "Really?"

"Yeah. Maybe I do fancy you a bit," he shrugs nonchalantly.

"Fancy me?" the smirk turns slightly confused and her eyebrow raises, "_Really?"_

"What's so surprising about that?" As really, he doesn't know why she's that shocked. She's _beautiful _and she's _hilarious _and she's _perfect. _Maybe all it took was a teenage girl and a pair of handcuffs and a date to admit it- although, he wouldn't say that out loud, as it sounds slightly inappropriate out of context…

"It's just…" Clara leans forward, "You weren't forced to say this by Angie, were you? She's not holding the TARDIS as ransom or something?"

"No! No way is she getting her hands on the TARDIS," he mutters disgustedly. Never get on the wrong side of Angie Maitland. "You're brilliant, Clara. You always have been and always will and I want us to be brilliant. _Together."_

She scoffs at the cheesiness of it, but that's just to cover-up how hard her heart is beating within her chest and disguise how much that means to her. She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, her cheeks blushing a delicate shade of pink. "Well, I guess if this honesty hour, I do fancy you a bit too. You're funny. I like that. You're clever. I like that too. And you're… Well, you're my everything."

The smile on his face freezes.

He's.

Her.

_Everything._

He's meant that to so many people. They made their lives revolve around him, orbiting him and obeying him like he's some sort of God- but never Clara. There had always been a mutual respect between the two of them, not letting loose how much they really meant to each other because that gets you hurt. She never wanted to give anything away and she did her best not to look impressed while he did his best to make her look impressed and failed almost every time.

But, it doesn't matter. Because she's his everything too.

"You know what," Clara says as she throws down the menu, "I don't quite fancy anything on offer here."

-x-

_**Even Later**_

His bed is usually cold and isolated: never used as he rarely slept. But now its warm and welcoming, Clara's limbs intertwined with his and the duvet rough and at the edge of the mattress.

"You are," he says in between kisses down her neck, her skin warm and soft beneath his lips, "_Beautiful."_

She grins among the ecstasy. "I know."


	21. Midnight

_I apologise for my lack of activity recently. Unfortunately both my rats as well as my grandad passed away in the last two weeks so times have been pretty tough and I haven't felt like writing- but here you go! Please please review, they light up my day so much and I'd love something to cheer up as I've been feeling so down recently. Thank you! xox_

* * *

_**Midnight**_

_In which the Doctor fulfils many of Clara's childhood dreams._

Another day, another failed soufflé attempt. The TARDIS kitchen is once again swarmed in the harsh tang of cremated milk and eggs, black clouds of smoke still hanging copiously in the air while the extractor fans get to work. Clara scowls unhappily at yet another culinary disaster, flour smeared across her cheeks and her hair scraped back messily from her face. Twenty-four years and she still hasn't managed to get one right. _Twenty-four years. _If anything, her soufflés appear to become more and more inedible with each endeavour- her most recent so charcoaled that it could probably suffice a coal-burning stove for a whole month.

With a moan her elbows collapse from beneath her and her head falls onto the kitchen counter, and she doesn't even care that now her whole face is covered in flour and egg shell. For a moment, all she wants is the cool surface to swallow her up and preferably turn into a king-size bed in which she can get lost in. Ahh, feathered duvet and fluffy pillows, maybe a Jane Austen novel…

She abruptly wakes from her vision when she feels two arms snake round her hips and a low laugh at her surprise. As the grip round her tightens slightly she relaxes: she knows these arms. She knows these arms better than any other.

"Doctor?" she mumbled, letting her head fall back onto his shirt-clad chest, the soft blue cotton smelling of tea leaves and custard creams and the universe.

He laughs again. When they first met, a little while ago now, his laugh was hollow. Like he was still hurting, lost… But now, well, it was whole again. "Tired, love?"

"Not tired, no," she admits, her eyes flickering open to see that his eyes are looking solely down at her, "Just fed up."

His eyebrows knit into a frown as his face falls. "Fed up how?"

Her eyes quickly glance over at the cremated soufflé and more disappointment settles in her stomach. "It's my mum's recipe. She always managed to bake it right. Every single time when I came home from school she'd have a new one, perfectly made, ready on dot for when I came through the front door until she…" Clara looks up at the Doctor's face, "Why can't I do it? I do everything right. _Everything. _Yet it still turns out like that!"

He doesn't know the words to say to comfort or reassure her so he just shrugs his shoulders. "Nine hundred years and I still haven't managed to perfect the macaroon. They're tricky little blighters, are macaroons. You have to make the biscuit things just the right size otherwise the cream won't fit in the middle. Or the trifle. And I love a trifle- what's not to like about cream and custard and jam? Or a soufflé, for that matter." he looks thoughtful, "Or beans on toast…"

She whacks him playfully on the arm. Even though his comment doesn't help her in any way, nevertheless it boosts her mood. He has a habit of doing that. Making her smile when she feels like curling up in a ball and crying for god knows how long. She had a _lot _more times like that before the Doctor came into her life: not that she'd admit that to him. "Shut up! It's just that this is sort of, well… A childhood dream, I guess. To bake the perfect soufflé. Like mum always used to do."

His hands ease from around her waist and leans down to press his chin into her shoulder. "A childhood dream?"

She shakes her head profusely, walking away from his grasp round to the other side of the table. She picks up the still moderately warm soufflé tin and wanders over to the pedal bin in the corner of the room, the soufflé refusing to budge from the casing so she just throws the whole thing into the bin-bag. "…Is that embarrassing?"

"No!" he retorts almost too quickly, so his arms flounder around awkwardly round him after he's spoke to try and mull the atmosphere. "No! Not at all. Definitely not. Everybody has childhood dreams, Clara. When I was little, about ooh, eighty or so; my dream was to see the universe," he smiles nostalgically. Oh, many of his dreams came true. But so did many of his nightmares. He quickly snaps out of his trip down memory lane. "And that's what I do now, of course. Have you got any more of these childhood dreams of yours?"

A soft flush takes over her cheeks as she walks back over to the kitchen counter. "Maybe. Why are you interested?"

He leans onto the kitchen counter, the elbows of his blazer now spattered with flour. "I'm interested in you. Therefore, I am interested in your dreams. So go on, tell me! What did you aspire to do when you were Little Clara?"

_Little Clara. _She can't help but smirk at that. She grabs a mixing bowl and various spoons from the worktop, throwing them into the kitchen sink. "I'll tell you when we've finished washing up."

He waves away the task with a flippant flick of his hand. "Who needs washing up? Washing up is for wimps." He reaches out for Clara's hand which is considerably smaller than his but just seems to _fit, _and drags her over to the table. She sees that there is not getting out of this, so with a roll of the eyes she jumps onto the counter and lets her legs dangle over the edge while the Doctor eyes her intently.

"It's really not that interesting," Clara tries to bribe him off with but that doesn't work for one second. _Every part _of Clara Oswald is interesting to him. The dimples that crook in the corner of her mouth when she smiles, the way she scratches her ear when she's nervous or under pressure. The way she presses her lips on his when they kiss.

"Fine," she sighs, looking up at the ceiling as she combs through her memories. "Well, there are all the usual ones… Wanting to travel the world." She looks back over at him with a grin, "Got a bit more than I bargained for in that sense."

He laughs at that. _Oh, Clara._

"Stand at the top of the Empire state building," –_oh, probably not such a good idea- _"Eat snails. Yeah, kind of gone off that one a bit. See a tiger for real. Swim with dolphins. The Northern Lights." She lists all sorts of amazing sights, tastes, sounds- and the way she still says them with such interest and delight makes him smile even though she's seen so many things already. You never lose touch with your childhood ambitions, do you? Not Clara, anyway. She could go all the way round the universe yet she still clung on to what was important to her. "There was this one phase when I was about fifteen and feeling rebellious, probably just before my mum died. I wanted the most handsome boy in my class to throw pebbles at my window and whisk me away for the night."

This last one intrigues him. He's always thought of Clara as the rebellious type, especially before her mother passed away, but this is not the first thought that sprung to mind. "And what would that entail? This running off with the boy shebang."

They both wrinkle their noses. _Not shebang. Not ever, not again._

She shrugs, smirking somewhat. "It was nothing really. I just wanted to escape, like all teenagers do, I suppose. And I really, really fancied Larry Anderson. That's the boy, by the way. Larry. He had really nice eyes. Never spoke to him once, but he was the sole of my affections."

He doesn't like this Larry. Not one bit. He just can't seem to fathom why or how he (or any other boy) couldn't just fall in love with Clara Oswald just by looking at her. Hearing her laugh. _The sole of her affections. _He wants to be her Larry Anderson, not that he'd ever tell her that.

He hoists her off the kitchen cabinet quickly and hauls her through the TARDIS corridors until they reach the control room. His hands instantly avert to the mess of controls in front of him. "So, Clara Oswald… Where do you fancy first? Play the tambourine as part of the Philharmonic Orchestra or the peaks of the Himalayas?"

She just grins. Maybe a few more of her dreams will come true after all.

-x-

They spend a month or so travelling, each time crossing an experience off her list. They drink tea and laugh at the North Pole as the electric blues and simmering greens of The Northern Lights blaze up above them like the whole universe has decided to dance in the sky. He reluctantly takes off his beloved blazer and bowtie to jump into the Pacific Ocean, defying the icy blasts of water and holding her hand while they swim amongst a school of beautiful dolphins. They capture a kiss at the very peak of The Empire State building (and, thank goodness, there were no Dalek's there this time round). They even take a quick detour in Paris to sample their finest escargot (the Doctor, funnily enough, is very good acquaintances with the head chef of _Le Meurice) _although in the end they decide that maybe snails are not for them.

It's coming to the end of their somewhat enjoyable quest together that Clara awakes with a start in the middle of the night, one of the days she's staying at the Maitland's. There's a spatter of tiny shadows looming every so often against her window, partnered with a quiet clatter. Hailstones, perhaps?

She curiously pulls herself out of bed and patters across the bedroom floor. Her hand clings round the fabric of her curtain as she pulls it back cautiously; her whole body relieved when she sees a tall man in a purple blazer and a gold bowtie standing in the middle of the street.

She laughs to herself as she rips open the curtain and pulls open the handle on her window, leaning out with a grin as her hair lies in a loose sheet around her shoulders. This is the second time they've talked through windows, she confirms. She rather likes it. "What on Earth are you doing?"

He looks at her as if it's obvious. "Throwing pebbles at your window! What do you think? Admittedly, they could pass for rocks, but there weren't any pebbles nearby so I just assumed rocks would suffice."

She bites her lip and shakes her head. "You are… Mad. Absolutely mad."

"You knew that already," he shrugs with a grin, "Now I may not be Larry Anderson with the lovely eyes, but I have thrown pebbles at your window and I do believe it's the middle of the night." He rolls on his heels, "So what do you say, Clara? Do you want to run away with me?"

She looks at him; studies him. His eagerness, enthusiasm, his _love _for her. He'd taken something into account that she'd said on a whim due to her stupid teenage fantasies: but he did it anyway. Oh, he was so much better than Larry Anderson. Better didn't even cover it- he was _better _than better.

How can she resist?

"Yeah," she says, "I'll run away with you."


End file.
